#this is nothing new! white men are always 'in vogue' move on!

[theeangeleudaku]

Punch, Drunk, Love: The Story of Ayan & Noah

It was on the day of her 18th birthday that Somalia born Ayan Samira Abdul would be discovered by american photographer Alex Ritts while walking down the streets of Paris, France. It was only a day later, a mere two hours after phoning her parents back home in Egypt where her family moved when she was 8 years old, that she had become an orphan. Her parents, a diplomat and a retired teacher respectively, had been killed in a car accident. There’s nothing like getting both the best and worst news of your life within a 24 hour timespan to completely change a person forever. In a matter of two weeks, Ayan would bury her parents and move across the globe to New York City. She decided that if she were to survive & thrive, the best thing she could do is assimilate as much as possible while keeping her Somali accent. She even went to the extreme of dropping her muslim faith and name, going simply by Ayan. She knew her accent would make her appear more exotic than African American women to all of those white photographers, agents, & designers, which in turn would keep her booked, busy, & paid. If she was going to be fetishized, it would be on her terms.

Ayan ended up being correct in her assessment. Within her first month of living in NYC, she was featured in Vogue. Within a year’s time, she became the muse of many prominent designers including Gianni Versace, Donna Karen, Calvin Klein, Yves Saint Laurent, and Thierry Mugler. If there was a fashion magazine, Ayan would be on the cover. Commercial print work? Ayan was always the token, black hire. Love interest in a music video? If a white woman wasn’t getting the job, she was. She was on top of the world & soon she’d be head over heels in love too.

It started off as a tryst in one of the bathroom’s of Paisley Park while Prince was playing Gett Off with the New Power Generation in the summer of 1991. Ayan was high from snorting a line of cocaine with her model friends. Her lover, known to the world as one word: Bowie, was drunk and sweaty after having ten shots of vodka straight. One minute they were dancing together, the next, Ayan was pushed against a wall while Bowie had two long fingers stroking her deep in her pussy while her dress was hiked up to her slim waist. Eventually they stumbled into a bathroom where they had sex: hard, fast & passionate. What Ayan thought would be a one night stand with a rockstar would turn into much more.

Bowie was a white passing creole born & raised in the city of New Orleans. He was raised in Uptown where he would attend a catholic private school until he graduated from ED White High School with honors. At 18, he decided to backpack across Europe, and it was during this time that he would form the band known today as Ziggy Stardust after a spontaneous jam session with a random group of men at a pub in Germany.

The morning after Ayan & Noah’s first night together was filled with a hearty breakfast cooked by her lover, who’s real name she’d learned was Noah Heath Duplessis, and ended with a sweet kiss that left Noah begging & pleading for more. Within 6 weeks, Ayan and Noah would be engaged. Three months after that, on September 7, 1991, Ayan had married every white girl in America's dream man in the city that started it all for her, Paris, France.

The first two years of their marriage was a high….. literally. Ayan decided to travel with her rockstar beau as he toured the world with his band. While Noah worked with a sober mind during the day, once show time came, everything would become a drugged filled, sex pit of a wild party. She was living the life as a rockstar’s wife, and unapologetically so. It wasn’t until she was nearly sexually assaulted by Bill Cosby at a New Year’s Eve party in 1992 that Ayan & Noah would have a wakeup call & get sober. Their timing couldn’t be more perfect, because on March 30, 1993, they found out they were having a baby.

“I think we should retire, habibi.” Ayan spoke softly as she lay in her husband’s arms. They had only just finished having celebratory sex in their NYC highrise love nest. They couldn’t be more excited about the fact that their love for each other had been expressed in physical form through a child. The two of them were still panting and sweating from the physical exertion their love making always entailed as Ayan spoke.

“Retire? As in….” Noah asked.

“As in I quit modeling & you leave your band.”

“Where is this coming from, chérie?”

“Hollywood is too toxic of an environment to raise a family in. I want to give our child as normal of a life as possible.” Ayan said as she softly rubbed circles onto Noah’s naked chest. “Let’s leave it all behind and raise our family in New Orleans. Hell, I’ll even convert to catholicism.”

Noah let out a hearty laugh. “Converting to a new religion is a bit extreme don’t you think?” He said before kissing Ayan’s forehead. “Besides, I’m only a practicing catholic during Mardi Gras & Lent.”

“When have I ever not been extreme, Noah?” Ayan deadpanned.

“You’ve got a point there, baby.” Noah said with a chuckle.

A peaceful silence fell over the two as they continued to lay on their California king sized bed. The lights of the neighboring highrises twinkling through their bedroom window, casting a blue glow on their skin.

Finally Noah gave his answer. “If this is really what you want, then let’s do it. We can lay down some roots at my house in the Garden District. Let’s give our daughter a normal childhood.”

“Excuse me,” Ayan spoke with an attitude as she lifted her head off of Noah’s chest. “How do you know I’m not carrying a baby boy in my womb? I could be pregnant with a warrior prince for all you know.”

“I think you’re pregnant with a warrior alright, but our cher bébé is a little princess. I’m certain of it.” Noah said matter of factly.

“I tell you what, if it’s a girl, I’ll let you name her.”

“Great, Angèle Duplessis it’ll be then.”

“You already have a name ready to go?!” Ayan said in surprise.

“It was my great grandmother’s name, the first of our family tree to be born free from slavery.” Noah said softly.

“Shit, I can’t even make fun of the name now. You would have some deep reason for it. You always have to be all “power to the people” because you look like a white man.”

There was a pregnant pause before Ayan let out a shriek of surprise. Noah had given her three harsh slaps on her ass in retaliation against what Ayan said. “Hey, I’m pregnant now you rajul fazie! No more kinky shit for the next 8 months!”

“No kinky shit? You won’t be saying that in the next 5 minutes, my sweet.” Noah said huskily, his eyes glazed over in lust. He flipped the two of them over and quickly went to work on top of her.

On November 17, 1993, 6 months after moving to New Orleans, Angèle Lianne Duplessis was born. Ayan quickly adjusted to Louisiana living, & true to her word, converted to catholicism. Four years after giving birth to Angèle, the couple welcomed another baby girl they named Tyla Giselle Duplessis.

As far as their careers are concerned, Ayan and Noah were both able to rebrand rather successfully as a wholesome, family oriented couple who found success as entrepreneurs. Ayan got inspired during her pregnancy with Angèle to create her own makeup line after years of having to make her own mix of foundation with makeup artists to match her skin tone during her modeling career. Ayan Cosmetics would be a huge success and by 1996 the company was worth $300 million dollars, which was unprecedented for the time. As for Noah, he created his own brand of guitars he named after his stage name, Bowie. Eventually the company expanded to over 15 different instruments. The most expensive instrument he ever sold? A custom made Bowie piano made of solid rose gold and acrylic for $300,000. In the present, the couple are worth a staggering $1.8 billion together. Suffice to say, Ayan did exactly what she set out to do on the fateful day her parents died.

#kompound multiverse #angel lianne #the kompound

[a-bit-of-you]

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[new-sandrafilter]

Timothée Chalamet and Eileen Atkins Interview - British Vogue May 2020

“Maybe your knuckles weren’t bleeding, but there was ice,” Timothée Chalamet tells Dame Eileen Atkins. He is recounting, with no small amount of awe, how he first came to hear of the legendary 85-year-old actor with whom he is about to appear at The Old Vic. It transpires that Oscar Isaac, Chalamet’s co-star in the upcoming blockbuster Dune, was at the receiving end of Atkins’ fist in Ridley Scott’s Robin Hood (all in the name of acting, of course). Chalamet was duly impressed.

“I gave him the worst time of his life,” says Atkins, bristling at the memory, before merrily launching into several candid, very dame-like stories from her time on set – “That was a nightmare movie. A nightmare.”

It is a Saturday afternoon in late February, and the two actors – one a titan of British theatre with an eight-decade career; the other, Hollywood’s most in-demand young leading man, with an insatiable Instagram following – have just finished being photographed together for Vogue. Chalamet, 24, in louche, low-slung denim and a white T-shirt, has folded his Bambi limbs into a chair next to Atkins, whose hawkish frame, in a navy jumper and jeans, belies her 85 years.

“Do you like being called Tim or Timothée or what?” Atkins asks in her warm but brisk RP, all trace of her Tottenham upbringing erased.

“Whatever works,” he replies in a bright American accent, that shock of chestnut hair falling into his eyes. “Anything.”

“So you won’t object to ‘darling’? I call everyone darling. I’m told I mustn’t say it these days.” He assures her he is fine with it: “It’s a rite of passage, being called darling by Dame Eileen Atkins.”

“You always, always, have to put the dame in, otherwise you can’t address me,” she jokes.

It’s good the two are getting all this sorted now. A couple of days after our interview they will begin rehearsals for a seven-week run of Amy Herzog’s play 4000 Miles, in which they star as a grandmother and grandson, each quietly dealing with their own grief. Chalamet takes on the role of Leo Joseph-Connell, a somewhat lost 21-year-old who experiences a tragedy while on a 4,000-mile-long cycle ride with his best friend. Atkins plays Vera Joseph, his widowed 91-year-old grandmother, upon whose Manhattan doorstep Leo unexpectedly arrives in the middle of the night, unsure of where else to go. What follows is a wonderful, and wonderfully witty, study in human relationships, a portrait of two generations with decades between them trying to make sense of the world.

Its stars, who’ve met twice previously, in New York last year, are still very much getting to know each other – and are confident in the appeal. “There are things like this play – hoping I don’t butcher it – where you can just sit back and go, ‘Oh, this is a delicious meal,’” says Chalamet. Atkins agrees. “I have a phrase in mind that I shouldn’t really say because it’s going to sound terrible in print.” Which is? “I find it a dear little play, a really dear little play. I think it should be very moving. But who knows? We might f**k it up.”

It’s unlikely. Atkins has been a regular on The Old Vic’s stage since the 1960s, going toe-to-toe with greats from Laurence Olivier to Alec Guinness, and fellow dames (and close friends) Maggie Smith and Judi Dench. Chalamet, meanwhile, is a relative novice, with only two professional plays under his belt. But since his turn as Elio in 2017’s Call Me by Your Name (for which he was Oscar-nominated), his celluloid rise has been meteoric. Roles in Lady Bird, Little Women, The King and Wes Anderson’s upcoming The French Dispatch have not only earned him the slightly fraught badge of “heart-throb”, but proved him to be among the most captivating actors of his generation.

He says he couldn’t resist the opportunity to come to the capital. “There was something exciting about doing a play that feels very New York in London,” Chalamet explains of taking on the part. He’s a diehard theatre fan, too, revealing he saw the six-and-a-half-hour epic The Inheritance – twice. “There are films like The Dark Knight or Punch-Drunk Love or Parasite that can give you a special feeling. But nothing will be like seeing Death of a Salesman on Broadway with Philip Seymour Hoffman or A Raisin in the Sun with Denzel Washington.”

Herzog’s writing particularly spoke to him. “Leo’s in a stasis that was very appealing to me,” he continues. “We find our crisis in moments of stasis, but there’s an irony to it when you’re young, because the law of the land would have you think that to be young is to be having fun, to be coming into your own. But as everyone at this age who’s going through it knows, it’s often a shitshow.”

It’s safe to say that, in casting terms, director Matthew Warchus, also artistic director of The Old Vic, has hit the jackpot. He first took the play to Atkins three years ago, but it was only towards the end of 2019 that Chalamet came on board. When it was announced, in December, that Hollywood’s heir apparent to Leonardo DiCaprio would be making his London stage debut, the news was met with a level of hysteria not usually associated with the 202-year-old theatre’s crowd.

“Oh, my friends have told me who the audience is,” Atkins chimes in when I ask who they think will be coming to see the show. “It’s 40 per cent girls who want to go to bed with Timothée, it’s 40 per cent men who want to go to bed with Timothée, and it’s 20 per cent my old faithfuls.” Is Chalamet prepared for the onslaught? “I think it will be 100 per cent Eileen’s faithfuls,” he demurs.

On the surface, they can seem quite the odd couple. Chalamet, raised in Manhattan by an American dancer-turned-realtor mother and French father, an in-house editor at the United Nations, may be living a breathless, nomadic movie-star life but there’s an iron core of Gen Z earnestness there. He arrives on set with minimal fuss, even deciding to wear the clothes he came in for one shot, before knocking out some push-ups, politely ordering an omelette and generally being divinely well-mannered.

He turns on the star power for the camera, though, and I can confirm it’s as dazzling up close as it is on the red carpet, where he has, famously, casually redrawn the rules for male dressing. From that Louis Vuitton sparkly bib at the 2018 Golden Globes, to a dove-grey satin Haider Ackermann tux at Venice last year, he’s a true fashion darling. Then, of course, there’s his dating life – from Lourdes Ciccone Leon to Lily-Rose Depp – that remains an endless source of fascination to millions worldwide. (All this, it must be said, is of significantly less interest to Dame Eileen.)

Atkins started dance lessons aged three, shortly before the start of the Second World War. By 12, she was performing professionally in pantomime, not far from where she grew up in north London, the youngest daughter in a working-class family. A fast-established theatre star, wider fame didn’t find her until late in life. Despite memorable turns in Upstairs, Downstairs and Gosford Park, it was the 2000 television hits Cranford and Doc Martin, when she was in her early seventies, that finally made her a household name. Today, she lives alone in west London, since her second husband, the TV and film producer Bill Shepherd, died in 2016. She has often spoken of being happily childless, and has zero time for razzmatazz.

And yet, despite their differences, the pair appear perfectly matched. They already have their grandmother-grandson dynamic down pat. Atkins does a fine line in mischievous eyebrow-raising, and at one point recites a limerick that is, honestly, so rude it almost makes her co-star blush. Chalamet, meanwhile, is politeness personified, still trying to work out his thoughts on various subjects, less inclined to give so much of himself away. There is a physical likeness, too, in their delicate features and fine bone structure. They share a naturally melancholic look, one that melts away when they laugh.

Their upcoming play, which premiered to rapturous reviews Off-Broadway in 2011, “about a block” from Chalamet’s high school, LaGuardia, could have been written for them. “Other than not being American, I’m very like the old woman,” says Atkins of the Pulitzer-shortlisted play. “I can’t be bothered to learn the internet.” If there’s one thing she won’t tolerate in rehearsals, it’s people on their phones. That’s the only thing that will “piss me off ”, she says, brusquely.

Ah, phones. Are they really the symbol of generational disconnect? “It’s easy to point to these things,” Chalamet says, tapping his phone on the table, “as the cause or the symptom, but I think my generation is a guinea pig generation of sorts. We’re figuring out the pros and cons and limits of technology.”

Equally, Atkins is keen to distance herself from some of the criticism levelled at her age group. “There’s a saying isn’t there: if you’re not very left wing when you’re young, you’re heartless. And if you’re not very right wing when you’re old, you’re foolish. I’m not political, but I’m not with this government I can assure you – and I’m not with Brexit. I wanted to wear a sweater saying ‘I did not vote Brexit’, because it was all old people who did. Not me, not me,” she snaps. “I went on the march.”

Both are in agreement that intergenerational friendships are too rare these days. “So. Important,” Chalamet says, hitting the table between each word. “There is so much to learn from people who have walked the path of life. That’s why I’m so looking forward to these next couple of months.”

Atkins is thoughtful on the matter. “I don’t miss the fact I don’t have children, but I do envy my friends who have grandchildren,” she says. “About five or six years ago I met a couple of young people – they are just about 30 this year – and, do you know, we go out together. And people immediately say to me, ‘Are these your grandchildren?’ And I say, ‘No.’ And they say, ‘Your godchildren?’ And I say, ‘No, they’re just friends.’ Everybody thinks there is something weird about all three of us. They just don’t get it. But the boy makes me laugh more than anybody and the girl is enchanting. I have more fun with them than I do with almost anybody else.”

I remind Atkins about her description of today’s youth as being overly serious. “I do call them the New Puritans, yes,” she says, before motioning to her young co-star. “He probably drinks like a fish.”

Chalamet, currently single, is remaining tight-lipped about plans for his new London life, and how many late-night manoeuvres in Soho or Peckham it may involve. “I’ve got friends here, which is nice. But I’m here for this – to be terrified at The Old Vic.”

Before we leave, there is a final thing to clear up – Atkins’ aforementioned limerick. “Do you know about the Colin Farrell situation?” Eileen asks Timothée. No, comes his reply. “Better get it over with now because someone will tell you,” she says, proceeding to explain how, when she was “69, about to be 70” and filming Ask the Dust with a 27-year-old Farrell, “he made a pass at me. He came to my hotel room. He was enchanting. I let him chat for two hours, thoroughly enjoying it, but no not that. He was very cross I didn’t.”

But then, she explains guiltily, she later told the story during “some stupid TV show” (Loose Women), where despite her best efforts at keeping Farrell’s identity secret, the internet did its thing and news got out. An apology to Farrell was required. “So I left a limerick on Colin’s phone…” she says. She clears her throat: “There once was a **** of a dame…” she begins, in her imitable theatrical timbre, before reeling off one of the filthiest rhymes I’ve ever heard.

There is a moment of stunned laughter. “Wow, that’s sincerely amazing,” comes Chalamet’s response, as Atkins finishes the verse. He gives her a solemn oath: “I promise I won’t hit on you.”

4000 Miles is at The Old Vic, SE1, from 6 April

#timmy #timothee chalamet #4000 miles #british vogue app #Eileen Atkins #my edit

[calypsoff]

Fifty One. Part 2

Robyn seems so happy that we have decided on a home, I mean of course I took a little bit of time to come around, I don’t want to seem like an asshole that I am ungrateful and I am not liking these luxury homes but big homes can be scary, they attract the wrong type of people that have no right, I mentally can’t take it if anything happens to me again so this is why I am careful and I don’t like bedrooms on the bottom floor, it was such a stupid idea. It was so easy for anyone to get me but I am happy that we finally have a home but that does also mean Robyn is going to go to London, she has been waiting to go. She has done nothing but speak on London and when she is going, she has team ready to leave, I think the jet is even ready but deep down I don’t want her to go just yet, in a weird way, not to sound like a little bitch but she protects me. I feel safer around her or whatever, but she has to go, this is her moment to live out her dream “there is that poppa! We got a home, yay!” Robyn clapped her hands “Matt said he will be visiting the apartment to drop off some keys and security codes to be changed but I want to change the whole security at the house, so ignore that. But yeah, we have our family home, happy?” Nodding my head “yeah, are you going now? To London? Or you going to stay at the new home for one night?” I hope to hear the second option “stay for one night at least and then go, I need to go. I know they are sick of me cancelling and everything, my schedule is behind, so I do have to go, it’s not even a need. I’m happy we have a home now, so you can stop worrying. I promised you this, didn’t I?” Nodding my head “you did, so are we going to a studio now or something?” I asked looking out of the car window “yes we are, the team is waiting for me, I mean my team. Vogue is out of the way and now GQ, this will be more fun for us” I hope it is, Vogue seemed intense in a weird way.

Getting out of the SUV squinting my eyes, the sun is shining down today “fashionably late my ass bitch! You just late” Yusuf walked off with Robyn behind him, pulling my jeans up as I made my way into the big studio, it’s huge. It looks like the middle of nowhere but there is a lot of TV crew here “you always walk this slow?” Rich turned to me “sometimes” I laughed “you always dragging your feet nigga, come on. I am always having to look behind me to see what you are doing, come” slowly making my way to him “you really beginning to annoy me” I chuckled walking into the building “where do I go?” Robyn has gone “follow me” he placed his hands on my shoulders “you need to start being fast, as soon as Robyn gets out of the car you move. So I have been here before, luckily” it’s seems so quiet, is anyone actually here. He knocked on the door and moved back “go in, they will be in there” I don’t trust him “you’re having me aren’t you? I’m gonna walk into there and it’s not even her” Rich laughed shaking his head and then opened the door “you left your whole husband on the streets? See she’s here” Rich held the door open to me “I did not leave him, he was right there” walking into the room “Chris I saw you get out of the car, you keep dragging your feet for no reason, you was there” chewing on my bottom lip as I sat down, she’s not wrong but I feel a type of way “anyways, I will see you all later” Mel made her way over to me with a blunt in hand “mhm” she held it out to me, nodding my head taking the blunt. I think I need it “you don’t get him high, honestly. This is his first appearance bitch!” Robyn spat; Mel just laughed but I needed this.

Passing Mel the blunt back “good shit yeah?” Nodding my head “yeah. You always do, are you going with Robyn to London” I asked, I am sure she is “yep, you know that already. Barry was saying you haven’t spoken to him since the wedding, I said that obviously I seen him and he’s ok. I mean I’m not coming between any of y’all, but I hope nothing has gone off right?” I didn’t think Barry would be telling Mel that I haven’t “no not at all, just have a lot on my mind. I’m ok though, I will speak to them soon. I just have things to do, like priorities change now. So it’s Robyn now, I just need to get my business back to where it needs to be. You know, can I ask. Is it selfish to speak on something you don’t want to happen? Like is it weak for a man to say he doesn’t know what he’s doing?” Mel squinted her eyes at me as she blew out the smoke “are you feeling a little lost? I mean it’s a lot that it’s happening, Robyn’ life isn’t just sitting in one place while in theory it would be nice to settle into marriage maybe that is something that can’t happen when this was a thing that needed to happen, but it’s ok to say it Chris. I would like to hope Robyn would want that. But it’s a lot, so marriage, honeymoon, a new home, interviews and business meetings like you haven’t really had that full time to just settle and do not keep that to yourself, say it” Mel is right “that is just stressing Robyn out, she is pregnant now and I got to think of that” I think I need to say it to her “she also has a duty to you, she jumped to get married” I didn’t think Mel would have said that.

Conversation with Mel was interesting, I mean even she said that she jumped to get married, but I am just going to wait it out and we can speak on it “Chris, in this dress. Does it looking like my stomach is growing, can you see that pouch. The dress is so clingy oh my gosh” Robyn twirled around while looking in the mirror just frantically staring at herself, I don’t think she does “no, you look ok. Your dress is tight as hell but ain’t nothing wrong with that, I like the dress. You look beautiful” she is so concerned that someone will see a bump “hi, Chris. Can you sit here for me” who is this lady “uh why?” I said confused “because she is about to make you look popping, go on” frowning at Mel “why?” I questioned “what do you mean why, you need to look good. You will be in front of the camera, I mean make his freckles pop Mylah. Go!” Mel hit my arm, getting up from the seat “like you going to put makeup on me? I don’t need that?” I am confused “I know you don’t Chris, but you need this little boost on the face, all the men have this now sit!” she spat, oh she is shouting “mhmm ok” walking by Robyn, this is weird.

Yusuf shaved my beard a little and my hair, made it look very on point. My face is very much on point, I ain’t going to lie with that shit but whatever she put on my face, I look good in a good way. I mean I didn’t expect Robyn to dress me but she has got me fitted, well Mel her stylist got me good. This fit is wild good, he got me in a Balenciaga denim jacket. A long white tee that is made by an independent designer and some jeans, it’s dope. Like I look good, I love that “are you done?” Mel said from outside “uh yeah” opening the door, he stood back from me just looking me up and down “perfect, see I knew you would look good. Now you can wear this cap or you can just have your hair like that, either way you look good. Come, let’s go to the changing room. Robyn was unsure if I was going to be good enough for you, in terms of how to dress you but I think I did good” Mel opened the door “you see how good your man looks, he is ready” he held the door open, Robyn’ smile widened “you look so handsome poppa, he looks so good. Ladies please tell him how good he looks, see what a little bit of makeup does” rolling my eyes “I am joking but you look so good, mhmmm” Robyn winked at me “thank you, to all three of you. Mylah, Yusuf and Mel and also Robyn, thank you” Robyn grinned at me “stop it, I love you. Don’t kiss me, don’t ruin my makeup” she said before I even attempted such a thing, hugging Robyn close.

Walking out of the room behind Robyn, I wonder what is next. I don’t know if I am ready for this at all, she said it will be fun but we shall see “if you say I am late I will scream” Robyn pointed at Jay Brown, he just laughed “ok, you’re here finally so come on. The team are waiting for you” he walked off laughing, he knew not to say she is late. Looking at Robyn’ ass in the yellow dress, her ass look so fucking good. I want to touch it “Scott, they are here” walking around the corner, this is the studio then. Two cameras, seeing the two chairs and with the backdrop behind, it’s crazy how this mess of a studio looks good on camera, I mean it’s just random backdrop “welcome, welcome. Rihanna so good to meet you” he hugged her “likewise, it’s been a while” Robyn hugged him “this is my husband” Robyn said, she is always quick to announce me as that, I love that about her “Chris, I am Scott” shaking his hand “hey” he seems so excited “I work for the GQ crew, I will be directing you both, not so much. But we just want you to be yourselves, we have the question cards” chewing in my bottom lip as he walked backwards “Rihanna you will have the question cards, we will be testing to see if the newlyweds do know each other, Chris good luck. We need you to sit on the blue side and Rihanna pink, and we can get started, and again. It’s just being yourselves” he gestured for us to sit down; all I can think about is what did I get myself into with this.

Sitting here is scary, having a whole bunch of people just watching you and judging you really. Makes it even worse that Robyn’ people are all sat here too, clearing my throat “Chris, look at me” Nylah said, looking at her “relax, the lights can make you hot. You will be fine” she dabbed my face with whatever “thank you ma’am” she walked off “please, can we all get off set so we can start rolling” looking over at Robyn, licking my lips laughing as she stuck her tongue out at me. Her legs look good “your legs look good” I mentioned smirking at her “you look good and I look good, so you know what that means huh” I chuckled “not really I don’t” she is playing with her fine self, and she knows it. I can’t believe it’s going to be me having to answer these questions, I think I should have asked the questions and she answered, but that is just me “ok, roll cameras. What we want to do, we want you to announce yourselves, something short and let us know what you both going to do. Starting with Rihanna” staring at Robyn and these damn cards, I really want to see what they say “in three, two, one!” Scott shouted, biting my bottom lip smiling “hi, I am Rihanna and I am sitting with” why does Robyn sound like she is flirting, she sounds so sexy “me” Robyn side eyed me “Chris Brown, I am Rihanna’ husband” Robyn chuckled “and I am Chris Brown’ wife” Robyn had to copy me, I just shook my hand laughing “cut” Scott shouted “we can add that still, so can we start again but we want Chris to say it, I think it’s going to be better” furrowing my eyebrows “huh? Me?” I pointed at myself “yes you, so in three, two, one!” sighing out smiling “I am Chris Brown, Rihanna’ husband” Robyn scoffed “why you keep saying that?” I chuckled “because it’s true, and I am sat with the greatest, the sexiest lady in the business right now Rihanna” Robyn clapped her hands “if he don’t get these right I am sending him back to VA” sitting back in my chair “I feel nervous now, I didn’t know I had to do this, it’s hard” rubbing the top of my head “this is the GQ couples quiz, this should be called married couples quiz, so are you ready?” Robyn questioned me, I grinned “ready as ever, come on” I need to be confident.

Robyn giggled “you should know this, who wrote these questions? I am blaming Jen or whatever. So Chris, what is my favourite nickname to call you” licking my top lip “erm, breezy?” Robyn’ face dropped “have I ever, now you are playing dumb” I snorted laughing “I am joking, poppa. Robyn calls me poppa or asshole when she is annoyed with me, but poppa is the main one” Robyn rolled her eyes “but you see this behaviour this is what I deal with, see this was easy. He knew that but who initiated the first kiss” that is tricky “are we speaking pre-adult times too, does it include that?” looking at Scott “yes!” he shouted “right, that was me. At my momma’s house. We were doing school work, of course we were but Robyn, she started feeling my leg and” Robyn yelped out “that is a lie! Do not lie on me” I chuckled “I am joking, so we were just at my momma house and I initiated the whole kiss, Robyn ain’t not rude girl, she lies about that” I pointed “no, I was shy with you. I don’t know why; I look back and think what? Him” she waved me off “she is mad now because I said that, but she was shy to kiss a boy, because I was a rude boy” winking at Robyn “you’re so annoying, you really are. Whatever, who initiated the second time we met?” Robyn pointed at me “you, see I am not bitter. She did because I was being respectful towards her and I was shy, there. Happy?” I don’t care, I will tell the damn truth “respectful, sure but you were shyer than anything but anyways! I made that question up” I chuckled; Robyn is funny.

“If I could live in the world anywhere forever, where would it be and why?” looking up thinking, not really thinking hard but I am just trying to figure out how to word it “Barbados, you love your home and I feel like you can be yourself, you are more independent and you want to retire there, so yeah. Barbados” I grinned “these are too easy for you, I need to catch his ass out, what is my zodiac sign” pulling a face “ah shit, erm. I know it’s erm, those fishes. You have the symbol, the tattoo on you. Oh god, erm. So I am Taurus, just to let everyone know. That is all that matters but erm, it’s” dragging out biting on my bottom lip “Pisces” clicking my fingers pointing “took your ass sometime there but yes, and you better read into how much of a bad bitch Pisces woman are” I shrugged “we don’t speak on zodiac signs, I mean come on. When I am in bed wanting to lay the pipe you think I am going to whisper in your ear baby what is your zodiac sign?” Robyn pointed at me whole laughing “shut up, we do not just do that, it’s your fault. You should be asking me such things. It’s your duty because I know yours, moving on!” she spat “my favourite restaurant?” she raised an eyebrow “Giorgio Baldi, that is because she can’t cook at home. I don’t see the hype” I shrugged “wow, I knew I would be divorcing him soon, but not this soon” she is so dramatic, she knows damn well there is no hype with that food.

“What is my favourite food to cook?” sitting forward on the chair “mhmm curry goat, you make that a lot. See when twin cooks she good with it but she is always dipping that spoon in tasting it, she always turns to me and be like can you taste the salt in this. I say yes every time” I laughed saying “I am never letting you taste test anything, what is my favourite TV show?” I paused thinking “see you was just watching it but it’s one of those reality shows, just women acting mad ghetto. Nene or someone, housewives or something. Reality shows, I will say that” I mean I forgot the name of the show “I will take that, this is somewhat easy but where did we reconnect and what did I think of you when we did” I breathed out “erm, it was at your concert. I bought a meet and greet, she still owes me for that but yeah erm, we met there and Robyn you was overjoyed to see me, when we reconnected you fell in love with me all over again” Robyn huffed out “I hate these questions, I am asking what I want for a little, so who do you think loves each other more, and why?” oh she wants to play that “me” I said straight up “no, on a serious note. I think we shouldn’t define who loves each other more, the love is equal. Marriage is not perfect, neither is love sometimes but if I was to say that then I would say me because what the people don’t know and they don’t see is that I can be hard headed and I had to change myself with Robyn and I did that because I do love her a lot. Only love would get me there, you know. But the things Robyn has done for me is something I will never forget” Robyn smiled at me “he is a charmer, all he said in that sentence is that he is a pain the butt. Describe me in three words” taking in a deep breath “is that on the cards, man. Beautiful is the first one because you are, you have always been beautiful. Hard working, watching you work your ass off and to see how you’re about to dominate the world. Loving, you have a big heart and people can take advantage of that, but you have a big heart” I winked at Robyn, I think she is happy about that. She isn’t biting about it like she usually does “he knows me” she said, nodding my head smirking “married my twin, what you expect” she knows that.

#chrianna #chrianna ff #chrianna fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #chriannaff

[rawiswhore]

Various WWF Wrestlers x Fem Reader- "Crass Commercialism"

By the end of the 1990's, professional wrestling would be at the height of its popularity.

It wasn't too long ago that both the WWF and WCW had low ratings and the WWF nearly almost went out of business.

But by the late 90's, the WWF and WCW had some of the highest rated shows on television, people were wearing wrestling T-shirts, wrestlers were guest starring on talk shows and TV shows, and underage kids would imitate everything from wrestling gestures to wrestling moves at school.

The WWF had some of its most popular stars since Hulk Hogan.

Professional wrestling was seemingly inescapable.

And...you were one of the many pro wrestling related things that was inescapable during the late 90's.

You were the first wrestling related person to ever be on the covers of Cosmopolitan, Maxim, FHM, Stuff, Allure, and Harper's Bazaar magazine, as well as the first wrestling related person to have a photoshoot and article written about you in Vanity Fair and Vogue.

You had also caused massive amounts of controversy during your heyday in the late 90's that would be headline news and discussions about whether if the WWF's ratings should be TV-14 or TV-MA.

Wrestlers have always done commercials for things, and you were one of the many wrestling related people that did several commercials during your heyday in the late 90's and early 2000's.

Because professional wrestling wasn't inescapable enough by the late 90's, at the beginning of 1999, you did a commercial for a body wash based on some of the things you used to do in the men's locker rooms when the cameras weren't rolling.

The commercial starts off with several male wrestlers in a locker room, either sitting down on a bench or putting their clothes in a locker, or taking their clothes out of a locker.

Some of these wrestlers were wearing nothing but towels wrapped around their waists.

You couldn't really tell if the men in this commercial were wrestlers at first, some of these men in this commercial didn't have recognizable faces like Stone Cold, Kane, the Undertaker and Mick Foley.

You, however, were standing behind the door to this locker room, peeping and spying on these wrestlers changing, and you were trying to hide yourself from these wrestlers from seeing you, as well as trying to stifle your giggles and laughter.

You were dressed in a white bathrobe and holding a bottle of body wash, your eyes looking down at that body wash and grinning from ear to ear.

You then proceeded to enter the men's locker room, and as you strolled into the locker room, you shed your bathrobe off of your body, revealing your completely nude body, not a single stitch of clothes on your body.

As you sauntered through the locker room in this commercial, some 20th century love song or a 20th century song centered more around lust than love, played.

You dropped that white bathrobe onto the floor and still held onto that bottle of body wash, and as you strutted through the locker room, the camera only filming you from above your nipples, male wrestlers in the locker room turned their heads and were peering at you.

The camera cut to various wrestlers and their reactions: the Rock raised his iconic People's Eyebrow as he stared at you (of course he'd do that!), Triple H grinned while looking at you and biting his bottom lip, Shawn Michaels' eyes grew wide seeing you naked (like he's never seen you naked before!) while he held a bottle of lotion, squeezing that tilted bottle where lotion poured out, referencing he's jizzing, Christian, Edge and Gangrel took their sunglasses off to look at you, Kane slightly tilted his head and moved his hand to his mask and raised it slightly to get a better look at you naked, only for the camera to cut to Billy Gunn smiling from ear to ear as his hands were motioning to squeeze your ass cheeks while Road Dogg smiled from ear to ear and his hands made crotch chopping gestures.

Many male wrestlers were cat calling and wolf whistling at you, at least those sound effects were made, and while you strolled through this locker room naked to the shower, your eyes were looking at these wrestlers staring at you and your mouth grinned from ear to ear.

The camera was cutting to male wrestlers looking at you, some of their eyes were big, others were rubbing their hands together excitedly and grinning from ear to ear.

Some wrestlers were pulling shower curtains and looking at you with a state of shock.

Val Venis walked past you looking like he stepped out of the shower, his body was glistening wet and he had a towel wrapped around his waist, looking like he typically looks when he enters the ring on Monday nights.

Val looked at you and smiled while he walked past you, he greeted "hellooooooooo" at you and his hand patting your ass afterwards, only for your other hand to grab onto his towel and pull it off.

Val had a state of shock on his face when you did that, his eyes growing wide and his mouth agape while he looked at you, the camera filming him from the neck up, only for the camera to cut to you grinning cheekily from ear to ear at him.

Jeff Hardy had heard the cat calls while showering, the camera filming him from the neck up, which made him turn his head and see you walking towards him, he smiled and grinned at you.

When you had entered the shower, you asked loudly "Who wants to take a shower?" while smiling from ear to ear, holding up that bottle of body wash and drumming the bottle with the tips of your nails and fingers.

Your arm holding up that bottle of body wash was covering and shielding your breast from being filmed on camera, and the camera was filming you from the waist up.

In this commercial, you were trying not to show your private parts like your breasts, ass and vagina.

There were some other wrestlers in that shower you had entered that were busy washing their hair.

Many wrestlers were walking up to you, including Billy Gunn, who was smiling from ear to ear and rubbing his hands back and forth, Triple H, Christian, Shawn Michaels, Val Venis, many of these male wrestlers were undressing their clothes off, including the ones you've mentioned but you said "no" to the ones you weren't attracted to, to which the male wrestlers that were rejected pouted and walked away.

However, you let Triple H, Christian, Billy, Shawn and Val enter the shower.

Some wrestlers in the shower like Jeff Hardy, Test and Steven Regal walked up to you.

Triple H offered to turn the water on for you, he smiled while he offered this, to which you accepted his offer, and he had his hand on one of the knobs (not his penis...or any other wrestler's dick, for that matter) and turned it, to where water began to pour out of the shower head and down to the top of your head.

Water wasn't just rinsing and soaking you, but some of these wrestlers circling around you, who were all undressed now, or at least shirtless and wearing a Speedo to make it look like they're naked.

The camera then cut to what this commercial was advertising: a new gender neutral body wash for both men and women to use in the shower, maybe even together.

This commercial demonstrated and filmed your hands caressing up and down Triple H's huge, muscular arms, lathering his arms and torso up with that wash, while his hands were caressing up and down your torso as well as your tits, lathering your body.

He wasn't the only one helping wash you, Val, Christian, Shawn, Billy, Jeff Hardy, Test and Steven Regal lent their hands out and caressed you in that body wash, foaming and lathering your body up.

Val and Billy were behind you, Billy lathering and squeezing your ass ('cuz his nickname is Mr. Ass, getit?), whereas Val's hands were taking turns caressing and soaping up your breasts, the foam from that body wash covering and censoring your breasts.

Val's as well as Triple H's hands were trying to cover your nipples from being exposed on television.

These aforementioned wrestler's were lathering your body from your arms to your ankles, slathering that body wash until it turned to foam on your legs.

This commercial demonstrated how this unisex body wash doesn't smell too masculine or feminine, it's just right for both genders, so now when you're in the shower with someone, you don't have to worry about females smelling too manly, or men smelling too effeminate.

Don't you hate it when you're in the shower with a guy and he's caressing your body with body wash, but it's feminine body wash, and he gets that feminine body wash on himself, or vice versa, you get man's body wash from your man washing masculine body wash on you.

You even mentioned that in this commercial, smiling while you mentioned it, and these wrestlers caressing your body in that foam smiled when they heard you reveal that.

The commercial then cut to that gender neutral body wash bottle just sitting by itself and had a little tagline to it at the end.

At the end of the commercial, the camera cut to Jerry Lawler entering the locker room, asking "Hey, what I'd miss?" in a shrill, high little chirp, his typical voice.

This commercial was inspired by what you did backstage when the cameras weren't rolling; how you'd walk into and enter the men's locker room naked just to get the attention of male wrestlers you thought were sexy.

#wwf #attitude era #wwf attitude #1999 #90s #fanfiction

[kamccormickhnd1b]

Clean White Research: Richard Avedon

Who Was Richard Avedon?

Richard Avedon is an American photographer best known for his work in the fashion world and for his minimalist portraits. He worked first as a photographer for the Merchant Marines, taking identification photos. He then moved to fashion, shooting for Harper's Bazaar and Vogue, demanding that his models convey emotion and movement, a departure from the norm of motionless fashion photography.

Early Life

In his early life, Richard Avedon was born on May 15, 1923 in New York City. Anna Avedon, his mother, came from a family of dress manufacturers, and his father, Jacob Israel Avedon, owned a clothing store called Avedon's Fifth Avenue. Inspired by his parents' clothing businesses, as a boy, Avedon took a great interest in fashion, especially enjoying photographing the clothes in his father's store. At the age of 12, he joined the YMHA (Young Men's Hebrew Association) Camera Club.

Avedon attended DeWitt Clinton High School in New York City, where one of his classmates and closest friends was the great writer James Baldwin. In high school, Avedon also developed an affinity for poetry. He and Baldwin served as co-editors of the school's prestigious literary magazine, The Magpie, and during his senior year, in 1941, Avedon was named “Poet Laureate of New York City High Schools.” After high school, Avedon enrolled at Columbia University to study philosophy and poetry. However, he dropped out after only one year to serve in the United States Merchant Marine during World War II. As a Photographer's Mate Second Class, his main duty was taking identification portraits of sailors. Avedon served in the Merchant Marine for two years, from 1942 to 1944.

Beginning of Photography Career

After leaving the Merchant Marine in 1944, Avedon attended the New School for Social Research in New York City to study photography under Alexey Brodovitch, the acclaimed art director of Harper's Bazaar. Avedon and Brodovitch formed a close bond, and within one year Avedon was hired as a staff photographer for the magazine. 

After several years photographing daily life in New York City, Avedon was assigned to cover the spring and fall fashion collections in Paris. While legendary editor Carmel Snow covered the runway shows, Avedon's task was to stage photographs of models wearing the new fashions out in the city itself. Throughout the late 1940s and early 1950s, he created elegant black-and-white photographs showcasing the latest fashions in real-life settings such as Paris's picturesque cafes, cabarets and streetcars.

Established as one of the most talented young fashion photographers in the business, in 1955, Avedon made fashion and photography history when he staged a photoshoot at a circus. The iconic photograph of that shoot, “Dovima with Elephants,” features the most famous model of the time in a black Dior evening gown with a long white silk sash. She is posed between two elephants, her back serenely arched as she holds on to the trunk of one elephant while reaching out fondly toward the other.

The image remains one of the most strikingly original and iconic fashion photographs of all time. 

Portraits and Later Career

Avedon served as a staff photographer for Harper's Bazaar for 20 years, from 1945 to 1965. He had become well known for his fashion, but also his portraiture. His black-and-white portraits were remarkable for capturing the essential humanity and vulnerability lurking in such larger-than-life figures as President Dwight D. Eisenhower, Marilyn Monroe, Bob Dylan and The Beatles. 

During the 1960s, Avedon also expanded into more explicitly political photography. 

In 1965, Avedon left Harper's Bazaar and from 1966 to 1990 he worked as a photographer for Vogue, its chief rival among American fashion magazines. He continued to push the boundaries of fashion photography with surreal, provocative and often controversial pictures in which nudity, violence and death featured prominently. He also continued to take illuminating portraits of leading cultural and political figures, ranging from Stephen Sondheim and Toni Morrison to Hillary Clinton. In addition to his work for Vogue, Avedon was also a driving force behind photography's emergence as a legitimate art form during the 1960s, 1970s and 1980s. In 1959, he published a book of photographs, Observations, featuring commentary by Truman Capote, and in 1964, he published Nothing Personal, another collection of photographs, with an essay by his old friend Baldwin.

Avedon was known as one of the greatest photographers of the 20th century, Avedon expanded the genre of photography with his surreal and provocative fashion photography as well as portraits that bared the souls of some of the most important and opaque figures in the world. Avedon was such a predominant cultural force that he inspired the classic 1957 film Funny Face, in which Fred Astaire's character is based on Avedon's life. While much has been and continues to be written about Avedon, he always believed that the story of his life was best told through his photographs. 

#clean white #clean white portraiture #cleanwhite #richard avedon #inspiring photographers #student research

[dropsofletters]

thinking of your gaze

title: thinking of your gaze pairing: park chanyeol/reader genre: long distance relationship!au/makeup artist!au/runway model!au summary: to see him and not to have him was her biggest sin. to love him and never tell him was her biggest regret. to feel him by her side was a dream to have late at night and to think of him was as normal as the wind passing by on its early rendezvous. she should have known that life goes along with love and love is obsessed with pain, and somehow park chanyeol is all three of those. type: angst/fluff word count: 20,602 words a/n: this is part of a two-part series that includes chanyeol and yixing as the main characters. both of these stories include snippets of what the other story is about. the yixing version shall be posted next week. none of these worlds or oc’s have anything to do with one another, much less do the main characters share a common love interest.

The world teaches its population that there are time-limits for everything. It starts with due dates for homework, then it moves over to friendships that just need to blossom at certain times, first loves that people just need to happen at certain age before it becomes too late to even try. One day, marriage becomes of importance, like a golden necklace hanging from your neck, and the other kids are necessary to fill the void of silence in someone’s house. There is rarely the time to enjoy life as it is, to give the clock time to turn into its numbers. It is always about moving forward, pushing your own type of love story to be written and catch whoever is in your sight to be the main lead beside you.

Some stories are just written with hard work; to some hard work is tears and sweat, paired with working over-hours and hanging out with the right people. To her, it was served in the form of makeup palettes, from eyeshadows combinations to practicing cut-creases in as many friends as she could get ready, to looking out for the newest trends and doing something out there, that remained classy enough to capture the attention of people. What she adored the most is that art, in whatever form it was even when hers was in makeup, never had a time-limit. The worst part, however, was the huge competition and the easiness of doing makeup. Some people simply thought it was useless to have someone else doing their makeup and with the amount of self-proclaimed artists, there were less spots to fill in important charges, like the makeup artist of a performer or someone with a makeup line.

Some dreams do come true, with all the hope in the world put into it, and now she could say she finally had a chance to shine for her talent.

When she was told Paris Fashion Week as the setting that she had been hired to work in, she had practically left a squeal in the depth of her throat with the excitement that bundled up inside her. What she did not notice, however, was that there were going to be other twenty makeup artists stuck in one room with a corresponding model for each of them, and that there were a lot of preparations that came with presenting the outfits in the runway, always ready for last minute changes, as well as paying attention to the most miniscule details so none of the colors from the makeup fell on the fabric of clothing or the accessories.

If she was honest, after spending a day in Paris preparing for the first night of the big event, she had only gotten to see studio lights and a lot of models, as well as getting hissed at by designers that were not too keen of her technique. Her confidence faltered the slightest at times, when she would pull away to look at the final product and thought to herself that there was nothing memorable about it, that she would be a disgrace for those who called themselves makeup artists, but a few thanking sentences from the less well-known models had her feeling better about herself.

After all, she was there for a job opportunity and she was getting the best out of it. Perhaps, at the end of this week she would finally get a glimpse of the Eiffel Tower. Not now, because there was one more model that she needed to prepare for the runway.

The world of rich people was incredibly hard to keep up with. There were celebrities that were at the top of every list with each passing year, that would never fall from their number one spot, just like there were names that people knew for a few months before they were forgotten. It was the rush that surrounded her that made her so anxious, knowing that for makeup artists it was the same, even for stylists. One word that passed as disliked to a celebrity and their careers were over and done with.

She heard the sound of the door of the makeup room opening, the chatting around her barely making the sound stand out as she organized her palettes. Concealers in one place, organized by shade; bronzers and highlighters organized by tone and her brushes were displayed in front of her, cleaned after she had finished the previous model’s makeup. A good look at herself showed that she was a mess, her black turtleneck showing a few foundation stamps at the edge of it, all thanks to rubbing her fingers against the fabric when the designer that accompanied the model cursed at her for using too much product. She moved her ponytail to the side slightly, bunching the fabric of her shirt inside her high-waisted jeans before someone snickered beside her.

“That’s what we call fashion.” Her very pregnant, and still very sarcastic, friend said from the side. Doah was also a makeup artist, her roommate for a few months at her very start four years ago. She remembered the times clearly, when she had left her nine-to-five job simply to approach something bigger that she loved even more. People around her were clearly not happy, but Doah was in the same situation as her and served as support as they launched their careers. Now, after living apart for two years and having crafted their careers to reach the point of doing makeup at PFW was a big deal.

She huffed. “Hey, I am not here to get a brand deal, you know? It doesn’t matter.” She convinced herself, watching the bloated woman rub her hand over her belly before chuckling.

“You’re annoyed.”

“Well, duh.” She stated, taking one look at Doah and smiling to herself. The woman had a healing aura around her, perhaps it was the floral scent that always radiated from her or her extra rounded cheeks with a perfectly gummy smile, but even when the nights were their darkest and she felt like she was going nowhere, Doah had done her best to make her feel like there were more chapters to her story. “I don’t know what I hate more. Doing a bride’s makeup or having a designer behind me screaming at me to put less foundation on.” Doah leaned over the vanity, letting her fingers touch her fake eyelashes to see if they were still glued on properly before sighing.

“It’s what we have to go through. Come on, we can do this.” With her excitement stocked somewhere within her that never seemed to dull, Doah shined like a star in a world that was full of sorrow for her. The doubt she felt, as well as the fear, was just a tiny monster eating at the back of her head. It kept her grounded, showing her that it was definitely never going to be easy.

The person that took a seat in front of the vanity consisted of the entire model set. Long legs and particularly outstanding features, good bone structure and a well-styled hair, but what differentiated the person whose makeup she was going to do at the moment was the smile on his face. It was soft, barely even there after he put his phone down on the vanity table, the lights on the mirror casting shadows under his eyes in the shape of his eyelashes and on the curve of his lips. The man had been in the cover of Vogue around the world a thousand times, more often than not with his right-hand model co-worker—and best friend—Oh Sehun. The pair had started out as simple models in a runway with much payment at all, even working for free when needed, until they were discovered by the right manager and they blew up instantly. Everyone wanted a picture of the two, wanted to be like how they were, simply desired to wear what they had over their bodies. Men all over the world took them as inspiration; people crowded around them with paparazzi not being left behind as they wondered what those two men could be doing with their lives. Pushing dating rumors aside, both in between them and with other people, they lived their lives giving a new aspect of fashion to the world.

To them, it was about the fun part of it—individuality, art, mixing and matching old and future trends to create something special. Experts said they had brought back the early 2000’s waves of models, the ‘good, old times’ some called it, while their faces were freshly new and definitely pleasing to look at. Two years down the road of their success and Park Chanyeol and Oh Sehun were one of the highest paid duos of the entire world. Furthermore, they worked together most of the time when in runways, more often than not having solo photoshoots whenever the time came around.

As someone that had to read about the fashion world, she was awestruck the moment she looked at Chanyeol, holding her beauty blender in between her fingers and bowing at him soon after as a greeting. His hair was blond, styled up to show his perfectly put-together undercut, makeup-less and shining in an all-white outfit, one that got a little bit lost with the color of his hair. Nonetheless, she could not even utter a word about it when she heard a designer approaching her quickly.

Much younger and less scary than the last designer she had talked to, the stylish woman—whose name she thought went along the lines of Seulgi— talked to her quickly about the basics of what she wanted in Chanyeol’s makeup. “Okay,” Seulgi caught her breath, putting a hand against her chest as if that would stop her heart from racing so fast. “I want white eyeliner and a good set of brows. Please, contour his face but leave his lips fairly natural.” Before she could even question Seulgi about anything, she was met with the woman’s back before she moved to another side of the makeup room.

In between her fingers, she played with the edges of her washed beauty blender before she decided to be the bigger person and talk to Chanyeol. “I, uh, I’ll start, then?” But it was not as easy as she thought it would be. Her fingers hovered over his face after placing Chanyeol’s perfect foundation match on the back of her hand as she breathed through her nose to keep herself calm. Hesitation was defined in dictionaries by the sight of her face as that moment and with blinking, oddly calming eyes, Chanyeol smiled before nodding his head.

“Go ahead. You can touch my face. It’s nothing.”

“Alright, thank you.” Thank you?! If that was the best she could do to look casual and totally professional, then she would get an award for the worst actress that had ever stepped a foot in this graceful earth. However, she concentrated on patting the product on his skin, the nicely prepped pores absorbing the density of the foundation before she turned around once again, looking between her tubes of concealer to pick one that matched. From the reflection in the vanity, she could catch a glimpse of the outfit itself—tall white pants with a belt that looked extremely expensive, paired with a see-through flowery shirt underneath an equally as white blazer. He kept looking ahead in his reflection, or perhaps at her, and when the applier to the concealer touched his under-eye area, he spoke up.

“I don’t think I have seen you in any past fashion week…are you new to the makeup team working with m company?” The man asked, surprising her with his observational skills. His eyes still look at her while she applies his foundation, putting a little bit to hide the faint bags under his eyes. What she knows is that he has not been getting enough hours of sleep. She nods her head as an answer, however, because it is easier to show than to tell, and she can’t find it in herself to talk to him. In that place, she has met a variety of nice looking models—but never quite so much of her preferred type of man. “I knew it. I know everyone around here, but I didn’t know you.”

Maybe, it is the fact that she has had enough regrets in her life that pushes her to say her name, introduce herself as if celebrities even care in most cases, but if he is asking, she supposes he wants to know. The introduction does not last long, only ending after she patted the last bit of concealer under his eyes were reaching over for an eyebrow brush. “And yeah. I had never actually worked with your company before, but I am on trial for now. If I do great, they might hire me full time or something—they said that, but I am not lifting my hopes up or anything.”

Chanyeol blinks softly, looking at her motions as if he is relaxed by getting his makeup done. She would understand that point of view, if that was the case, having gotten her makeup done by her friends a few times. “If they hired you, you must be really good. Besides, they are short on staff.” The man adds, a smirk appearing over his face as he teases her and for a moment, she finds herself smiling, too.

“This room does not specifically scream short on staff.”

“You think this is too packed?” He points with his index finger around the room before shaking his head. The soft brushing of her eyebrow pencil against his eyebrows lets her create the shape, sharp and straight, probably going to be perfected by more concealer. “It is even worse when you’re waiting to go up stage. Everyone is screaming at you and stylists start putting hairspray on you and it smells a bit like too much perfume, but also sweat and you can only hear—” The way his lips make out the sound that is supposed to be the spraying had her laughing, her nerves becoming less and less prominent the more he talks to her. By her side, she can see that her ex-roommate is working on Sehun’s makeup, much more quiet and concentrated on taking mirror selfies, rather than anything else.

She laughs, taking a flat brush and coating it slightly in concealer to perfect his eyebrow shape. “Did you get used to it?”

“Oh no. The smell is terrible.” Chanyeol announces and she bites down on her bottom lip to fight back a smile, but it is almost impossible. There are people that truly remain humble, even when she knows his bank account is probably surrounded by zeroes and zeroes one after another, and Chanyeol seems to be one of them. “But I do love runways, it feels so good to walk up there and just…just, like, I don’t know how to explain it? It’s like wearing someone’s art?” That is the part where it seemed like she could connect to him, to the models around her and the designers that do their best to share their absolute love for art. Some do it for the money, of course, but she thought fashion was the most hated and yet the most used piece of art. While problematic in its own way, sometimes filled with unnecessary remarks and drama, it truly was a form of art.

“I get it.” She adds, picking up the white eyeliner she had bought with the most recent trends in makeup. Neon and white were passed from clothes to liquid eyeliners, and it was something she had not tried on herself, yet, but by the looks of it, it would have worked excellently on someone like Chanyeol. Perhaps, that is why the thought of being a model even crossed his head, because he knew that he was that good-looking. The type of beautiful that left anyone in awe, that deserved to be dressed only in the most precisely made clothing, with the shiniest jewelry hanging from his neck. Still concentrated on the task at hand, Chanyeol seems relaxed under the weight of her hand, resting upon his cheek to hold his face and help her get a better grip of the eyeliner.

“You’re really good at makeup, too.”

“Ah, really? You haven’t seen that much…I only have one eye finished.” She comments, moving around his chair before taking his face in between her hand and the brush once again. The concentration on her eyes has Chanyeol staring back, trying his hardest not to blink even though his eyes are starting to water a bit. “No, no, no, no. Don’t cry.” The repetition brings a smile to his face, much more when she uses her extended palm as a fan to stop his tears from falling. “You’re going to ruin your eyeliner and I still have to put some in your waterline.”

Chanyeol looks up, to the harsh lights on the ceiling as if he is encountering his first visit to heaven, a smile appearing over his face when he dumbly says. “The least I expected was to end up crying when I sat down on this chair.”

With a white pencil eyeliner, she moves forward and makes sure to fan some more with her hands over Chanyeol’s eyes to stop him from crying. “Not my fault…” Her tongue peaks out to rest at the corner of her lips before she nears the pencil to his eye. “I am going to try to do this quickly, okay?”

“Quickly?” Chanyeol asks when he feels the first swipe of the pencil against his waterline, his eyelashes fluttering with the need to blinking, but he pushes the desire away. “Take as long as you want. I’m totally comfortable over here.”

“So, you like getting your makeup done.” She confirms, but Chanyeol merely clears his throat.

“Yeah, usually. Depends on the person, though, some I enjoy more than others…”

The flirty tone should be expected; it’s the city of love—he is a celebrity, and the amount of confidence that must have bundled up inside that big body of his is probably a compilation of all the love scores that he has had in his life. Chanyeol definitely does not look like the type that got rejected once or twice in his life; she thinks that the only chance of him being rejected would be if, perhaps, he had tried to innocently ask a girl to his girlfriend when they were in kindergarten and the girl was going through the phase of ‘boys have cooties!’, leading to a heartbroken child that felt better four days after.

The heat that radiates from her, like the sun in the middle of summer, has her smiling briefly before she shakes her head. It is obviously not about her, she tries to reason with herself, that Chanyeol was probably talking about something else, but soon after he speaks again:

“Like I said, you’re very good—”

A man with his phone pressed to his ear walks closer to Sehun and Chanyeol, standing in between the two seats. He had black hair that remained sleeked back, a dark suit to match the color and a professional look on his face. She had noticed that Chanyeol had a dimple, but this man’s were even deeper. His attire did not particularly scream runway model, but he could be if he wanted to. “Hello.” He greets the two makeup artists, making her look up from her set of bronzers to bow at him as a way of replying to his greeting. She still had to contour Chanyeol’s face, put some highlighter on and add lipstick to the mix before finishing everything up. “I would like for you to hurry up a bit, please.” He speaks way more politely than anyone else has done in that team, thankfully. “Sehun and Chanyeol have an interview with Cosmopolitan in seven minutes and I need them ready for pictures.”

Chanyeol lifts his gaze while keeping his face still, his makeup artist’s brush contouring his face professionally to make his cheekbones stand out with the sharpness of his face. “Wasn’t it with Vogue?”

“We also have a Vogue interview.” Yixing announces and Chanyeol chuckles at that, apologizing once he realizes that laughing is not exactly what he should be doing when he gets his face contoured. She doesn’t mind, however, for his smile is completely natural and away from the eccentric world that is modelling.

“These new members of the PR Team are going strong.”

“Much more the girl that is scared shitless of Yixing.” Sehun argues from his spot and a smack on his shoulder from his manager has him chuckling the slightest.

What follows next is the end of their conversation. Yixing is reading over what they have to say, what they have to do, how they should act—but also, telling them to keep it casual to the most of their abilities. She tries her best to deliver a good face of makeup but also, take her time to remember his nice looking features. She feels like this is the last time that she will see Chanyeol; the man that stands up and looks at her with a smile before bowing, the same one that repeats her name when he says his goodbyes paired up with a small ‘I’ll see you tomorrow’ and the same one that leaves her with the hope that, indeed, they will meet the day after that.

✈️

This job proves to be annoying only four days into the fashion week, and it is even worse when Doah decides to take a flight back home because she is having contractions. She had tried to make her best friend stay, only to keep her company even if she had to have her child in Paris, but Doah was hard-headed and definitely had made a decision already. It leaves her alone and with twice the models to prepare, meaning that she has half the time that she used to have to prepare everything, and if designers had screamed at her in the past few days, they were even worse when Doah had left.

Most of the time, she spends sighing, looking at her watch or trying to apply makeup as quickly as possible. No longer does she embarks in conversation with the models to see how they were doing, she simply does her job and prays that it looks well on cameras.

There are two models that she leaves for last, always, and those are the ones that everyone talked about after every performance. Whenever she got to her hotel room, shared with now one makeup artist instead of two—Jenn, who snores louder than she should and she has to try to get used to it before she goes crazy from the lack of sleep, she would spend the little free time she has reading the reviews about the models that she had done their makeup for, sometimes seeing her name credited at the very bottom with the words ‘MUA’ before it. Oh Sehun is way easier to work with; he talks less, he looks at his phone most of the time and his eyebrows are already to die for, as if he had been blessed with the best genes in the world—and he probably was, really—.

But Park Chanyeol is the one that makes her feel at ease; the only one that kept her sane for the last few days, the reason why she feels like her job is as pleasing as it is. It is always a pleasure looking at him; the first day was white themed, but the second day he was modelling nothing less than Tommy Hilfiger, a brand that he has been sponsored by for a little over a year—he claims, and she listens—. The third day, another brand calls for his name to wear an advancement of their newest winter collection, and Chanyeol looks the coziest with a sweater on. On the fourth day, Chanyeol talks to her as she is doing Sehun’s makeup, going as far as asking her about the steps. He wants to know what primer works for, why Sehun uses mascara and he doesn’t, why she contours Sehun’s face differently from his.

Chanyeol is either a nice onlooker, or he has had his eye on her for the entirety of the four days that they have been here.

All moments are cut short by the man whose name she now knows. Zhang Yixing is the duo’s manager, well-educated and polite, an all-rounded person that excels in everything. If she is being honest, his honesty and niceness shines through him when Sehun teases him about some PR Member that apparently hates him, only to have Yixing whining about how he doesn’t understand why this person dislikes him. Quite the sight, if she is honest, a pretty funny one at that, too.

But on the fourth day, with only three more days left until she is back home and away from Paris, she does get to see the Eiffel Tower. It shines brightly at night, equally as beautiful as she had thought it would be, but she only sees it for a moment—just like how it happens whenever she sees Chanyeol. They barely see each other for fifteen minutes until he is off to another interview, or maybe some last minute preparations, or a photoshoot of sorts. He disappears the moment she blinks; smiling to the street, in hopes that another handful of people feel what she feels for him: endless attraction.

This time, she is inside a taxi on the way to some Spanish restaurant in the downtown part of Paris—because bringing Spain’s culture to Paris seemed like a good idea with the upcoming Madrid Fashion Week a few months from now—, with Jenn holding onto the palm of her hand as she talks and talks about this one new technique that she uses on false eyelashes, one that she doesn’t really pay much attention to. Not as much as she should, really, Jenn already has a spot on the company she is trying to work with, and that could only mean she knows better. But her mind is filled with a lot of things:

One, she is extremely tired, for Fashion Weeks are not as easy as she deemed them to be.

Two, Park Chanyeol is constantly running through her head in his tall, model-like glory as he speaks in that deep voice of his. When in reality, if she is counting, if she spends fifteen minutes on a daily with him and it has only been four days of knowing him, she has barely gotten to see him for an hour.

An hour is quite not enough.

Jenn tugs at her hand, the wavy and dark strands of the woman’s hair flowing with the wind softly as they get out of the taxi. The older makeup artist insists on paying, tossing some money to the French taxi-driver before she turned to look at the entrance of the restaurant. “You know, I have a younger sister and she would get so fucking embarrassed when I held her hand in public. But you don’t. So you’re now my new younger sister.” Jenn jokes around, random and energetic as always, as they go up to the security guard at the entrance, showing the cards that are given to them when going backstage in the fashion shows and sooner than later, they are let inside.

“…I am not sure how I feel about that.” She chuckles, shaking her head as she stares around the place. Open and with the stars twinkling above it; it was nothing less or nothing more than a dream come true. The sound of a Spanish guitar filled the air, and the crowd gathered in different spots, some eating by the tables, others by the bar’s counter and some danced to the sound of a very romantic song. Flamenco seemed to be the subject of the night, along with reds and golds that shined through with elegance. But, there she is, wearing a pair of black pants and some white crop-top that she brought with her, off the shoulder and with wide long sleeves. Now she is worried, because her heels are starting to make her feet ache and she has to eat with precision in order to keep her clothes clean.

“You’re so uptight.” Jenn says. “Let go for a moment. Just, look at this place, okay?” And she does, engulfed by the beauty and the sound of Spanish words sang in such an enticing way that it almost touched the subject of romance. “You just have to have fun in a party like this. Besides, I asked the other makeup artists to save us some seats and food, so we better get there before they start eating what they saved for us.”

“Right…I think I’ll just go grab food for myself.”

“Come on, I know we are all scary when we are in the makeup room, but they are nice people. The stress just gets to them sometimes—” Jenn cuts herself off before clicking her tongue. “And it’s kind of part of the business. Some of them are just up their asses, but you need to talk to some of them to get more well-known. You see?”

She rolls her eyes, opting to think that she just has to get this spot in that company. Madrid Fashion Week is waiting for her. She has to do it. “Okay. I will. It’s alright. I can do it.”

Or so she thought.

When she was a kid, she had played musical chairs once or twice, but the group in front of her take musical chairs to a whole different level. Whoever stands up from their seat to go look for something, they talk about. Perhaps, it would be better to talk about their experiences in the industry, talking about their hardships with makeup in the recurring fashion week, but it goes past from that. Clothing, style, makeup and overall appearance is something that everyone around the table talks about, leaving her to lean back on her seat while plopping snacks past her lips and looking around the room to see if she finds someone that takes her out of that situation.

No one does, until she sees a hand waving at her.

The blonde hair probably gave it away, or the tallness, or the fact that the lights in the room cast upon the only man that had her attention going towards him. Chanyeol waves at her to come closer, moving his arm with him as he holds onto the reason why he is being so bold and frantic—a glass of wine rests on left hand, almost finished, the red liquid tinting his lips exquisitely. She stands up from her seat, whispering to Jenn that she would be back any minute, before the woman nodded her head, too lost in gossip to even spare her a second glance. With wobbling steps in those fucking heels, she goes over to where Chanyeol is standing, obviously near the bar, and obviously smelling like wine mixed with his favorite Calvin Klein cologne.

Dressed in an all-black suit, with polka dots in the tie he wears, Chanyeol’s most outstanding feature is his smile the moment he greets her with a small exclamation of her name. “What are you doing over there, huh? Looking all bored? I was hoping you would come and—” He swallows thickly, probably salivating a bit more now that he is slightly tipsy. “Sehun told me you were over there with the MUA’s.”

She scrunches up her nose in distaste. Some were clearly enjoyable to be around, like Jenn—a good example of a person that is truly enchanting in every way, and maybe one or two that actually asked if she was doing okay, but the fashion industry was, is and will always be messy. “Yeah, I don’t know what I was doing. I’m thankful you called me over.”

Chanyeol looks at her face, up and down, inspecting her features before a quirked smile appears over his face. “Want some wine?”

“No, thank you.” She comments, shaking her hand in distaste. “I don’t like that type of wine and Jenn has already taken a few drinks, so I have to make sure we get to the hotel safe.”

“Responsible.” Chanyeol comments and then, he takes a seat in front of the bar’s counter, patting the seat beside him that she takes gleefully. Chanyeol pushes the strands of his blonde hair behind with his hand, probably used to having it sleeked back thanks to the stylist’s doings, but this was him—casual yet elegant, probably did not take that long to do something to his hair. “Have you ever gone to Madrid?”

She thinks for a moment before she answers, nodding her head as she is reminded of the very hectic, extremely stressful, definitely not pleasant memory she had of that one university trip she had to take for her thesis. Madrid was one of the destinations people were sent to and she thought she would get to see the boisterous side of the city, but she spent most of her nights typing the results of the thesis while her classmates spent their nights drinking and partying. “I did. I don’t think I truly got to see the beauty of it because I didn’t have a lot of time to do so.”

“You’re always on the run, huh?”

“Quite like yourself.” She replies, watching as Chanyeol nods as he takes another glass of wine from the bartender. She tries to stop him, placing her hand over his very expensive Rolex watch as she mumbles: “Hey, take it slow, the wine is not going anywhere.”

The tall man giggles at that, patting his cheeks to stop himself before he continues the conversation. “I haven’t even had the time to go to Seoul in a long while. So you’re right, I’m very busy.”

“But I don’t think you regret being a model at all.”

Chanyeol takes a sip of his wine before shaking his head. “Not at all.” Thankfully. She knew the feeling of wanting to get out of a place as soon as possible, but you can’t—because it is your job, and it pays the bills, and it potentially will be your future. The moment she abandoned her previous job, she spent months wondering if she had done the correct thing and only now, she got to see the flowers of the garden she had watered for years. “I did it as a joke at first,” He indicates, the dimple on his cheek prominent as he smiles. “But then it actually grew on me. My mom has all the magazines that I have been featured in saved in a drawer or something.”

Her heart beats softly at the idea of his mother being proud of the man he has become. An icon, quite clearly, much more for fashion. “So you’re a momma’s boy, then.”

“Very much so. I can only sleep well if I call my mom beforehand.”

“…You’re lying.”

“Why would I?” Chanyeol asks, his cheeks turning pink because of the drinks he has had. “But, we have talked enough about me. Tell me about yourself.”

That question can end up with two answers. The awkward answer that comes with bland connotations and a wall that separates two people from getting to know each other. And then, there is the type of answer that she gives him. She basks on conversation with him; talking about what shows she watches, the scar on her knee that is a memory of her days playing outside of the house, how she learned how to do proper eyeliner—because Chanyeol says his hands are too shaky whenever he has tried to do so—and the man replies with drunken memories of his own. His tongue is slurring by the time he finishes his glass of wine, saying how he once put glue on his sister’s hair, and how he really wishes his dog would see him as his actual owner instead of just some random dude that pets him. Briefly, he talks about how he used to listen to rock music a lot, but nowadays he listens to hip hop a lot more.

Park Chanyeol is not a paradox; he is not exactly complicated, either. People that are like open books are not ones that could be found in a world like this nowadays. Everyone is trying to put on the façade of stone cold hearts, going through life with the mindset that no one is worthy enough of trust. She is guilty of that, as well, but there are people—just like him—that just can’t be disliked. Some people are just like that.

Some people have set roles, too. Her role for the night is of the woman that smiles at the sight of Chanyeol getting closer, tapping his ear so she could talk closer to him and he would listen well. His role is of a man trying to enamor someone, not that is difficult for him at all, and of a new friend, as well…

Yixing’s role is of interruption.

All.

The.

Time.

“Ch—Are you drunk?!” The man asks the moment he comments face to face with Chanyeol, the surprise on the manager’s expression quite a funny sight. She raises an eyebrow, trying to blend into the crowd in hopes that Yixing does not blame her for his client’s drowsiness.

“Nope.” Chanyeol pops the word before he lifts his index finger and thumb in the air, indicating the smallest bit he could with a tiny gap in between his fingers. “Only this bit.”

“I—Hi.” Yixing greets the woman before him, bowing slightly before waving his hand with a smile on his face. Soon after, he turns towards Chanyeol with a pouty look and worry written all over his face. “Chanyeol, we have a meeting with a Puma sponsor and I really, really, really need you to talk well. Okay?”

The man in question is taken off by the rapidness of everything that happens around him, tumbling on his step when he stands up before straightening his back. “Okay. I can do it.” He confirms, breath lingering with the smell of wine. “I’ll see you tomorrow!” He tells her, a little too loudly before nodding his head at Yixing, almost as if indicating that he is ready. She answers with a goodbye, much softer in tone.

Tomorrow sounds like a better promise than tonight would ever be.

✈️

The last day of Paris Fashion Week, in the golden makeup room, starts with two models practically ripping their heads off as they fight for hairspray. Now, her mind was divided in three parts at that point: one, that was stressed; the other part was practically mortified about the situation those models got themselves in, and, of course, the last one could only remember one of the very first few things that Chanyeol told her the first time they met. Backstage smells strangely like hairspray, and perhaps models are kind of crazy.

“Coffee?” Jenn offers almost immediately, appearing beside her in perfect attire. The concept of the night was colorful, back to the eighties, some said would be a perfect name, but she thought it was basically a night for art—or to show her art, really. She takes it, because there is no way in hell she looks as awake as Jenn does, with her hair perfectly put in a high ponytail and with the most gorgeous, designer blazer she has seen. “You look well rested.” Well, that part was indeed very true. The bags under her eyes today are because she wants more sleep, not because she needs it. Jenn had decided to have a little escapade with one of the models later on the night—and that model, although gorgeous and tall and definitely one of the most beautiful women in the top ten lists around the world, was the one that had to deal with Jenn’s snoring.

“I didn’t have to listen to your snoring.”

Jenn almost, almost seems offended. “I don’t snore!” The woman says, taking a sip from her own cup of coffee before staring at her vanity. “Speaking of…I am going to do her makeup now. Is your model here?”

“No. Ah, I think I am starting with Versace today…so that would be Kim—”

“Not Kim, you know who your model is.”

“…I don’t.”

“It’s definitely not a Kim.” Jenn prompts before winking with her two eyes. Quite clearly, the woman does not even have the exact precision to do so, but it is good that she tried, at least. “It’s a Park, and he’s friends with an Oh.”

She opens her mouth to say something, perhaps retort her comment only to be met with Jenn’s giggle and her back, going over to where her vanity was to start working. The coffee burns the roof of her mouth slightly when she tries to down something to simplify the ticklish feeling she has inside her stomach, but it does nothing more that make her hiss and remind her that she really does need to work.

Some days, people don’t feel fine—it is something everyone learns early on in their lives, but the person that she least expected to be silent throughout her makeup routine was Chanyeol himself. His arms are folded over his chest, looking ahead after saying his greetings to her. Even when she takes a little bit longer to do his makeup, all thanks to the amount of colors the designer wants on his eyelids—cut crease included—, he does not utter many words although she tries to initiate a conversation various times. As it seems like, the frown on Chanyeol’s face is permanent and she should be worried that the action is creasing the foundation that she had applied so effortlessly, but she is far more worried that Chanyeol is feeling wronged. Or maybe, she did something wrong.

But she doesn’t recall doing anything remotely close to a bad thing. All she has done is be wrapped in conversations with him endlessly, and he seemed to enjoy it each time.

Normally, after she ends up Sehun and Chanyeol’s makeup, she waits and sees if anyone wants some adjustments and does them, if necessary. This time around, however, she is in the lounging room behind the big wall that separated them from the runway and she could only think about Chanyeol. It’s because he is there, standing in all his tall glory with that frown over his face that only showed his distress. The outfit he is wearing is big, with some weird architectural thing that is supposedly a sleeve, in the colors of the sunset ready to step out on his own type of stage. The only thing is that, in most occasions if not all, Chanyeol is clearly more excited about things. And most importantly, he never really ignores Sehun—who now stands by his side repeating the same question over and over again until he actually gets tired of it, cussing at Chanyeol under his breath when he asks his third ‘huh?’.

Something is wrong. Something is definitely wrong and it should not even be her problem if Chanyeol is going through a hard time, or if something has happened to him to make him feel that way. She should be concentrating on the book under her gaze—a romance novel that Doah left behind in their room, definitely all the clichés written in the form of bad boys and naïve girls. Anything would be more interesting than that book, if she is honest.

So she pushes herself up her feet, sighing at the action before moving forward. She stands behind Chanyeol for three seconds and soon after, she regrets even getting close to him. Who does she think she is to ask Chanyeol how he is? Maybe, he was just being nice all along, for that would not be a sin. There are people that are bookmarks in life, and maybe she was just a stopper in the chapter of his life that was this year’s Paris Fashion Week, but that did not mean he would not move forward. Chapters end. Stories are re-written. Bookmarks are lost. That is just how the world works.

“Hi.” But still, she is a person that is afraid of regret. When she left her job, her best friend at the time—also a very close coworker—almost had her head for leaving such a great spot. But she tried it, and part of her thinks that it is staring to work. In the back of her head, she ponders if she will think about this moment in a few years and wonder: What would have happened if I asked Chanyeol what was wrong?—of course, the least she wants is to have a question mark as an answer. “Is everything okay?”

Chanyeol breathes softly, through his mouth, then his nose, then back again before he replies: “No.” For a moment, she feels like his voice broke, and maybe he wants to tear up a bit but he fights back the urge to be sensible when he has makeup on and he will also go on stage as soon as possible. “I, uh, I’m about to shit my pants and these are not…very cheap pants, so that is not a good idea.” He randomly adds before muttering a curse under his breath. “Fucking shit. I don’t know why I’m telling you this. I’m finally going nuts.”

She shakes her head, watching as he turns to look at her. “What are you scared of? I-Is…Is there anything bother you? Anyone, really? I would beat up anyone that is harassing you.” She says it half-seriously and half-jokingly, but it brings a soft smile that doesn’t show his teeth to Chanyeol’s lips.

“I got into a scandal yesterday.”

“Really? I haven’t heard anything about it.” It is not uncommon for big models to get into scandals. After all, they are celebrities and once you reach that title, everyone is looking to see what you do wrong.

He shrugs his shoulders, as if it is nothing, as if whatever is eating at the back of his head that is making him so anxious is even remotely valid. “It’s because it’s not true. Someone tried to say I had basically started this Tommy Hilfiger campaign so I would back out from my duo with Sehun…and then people were commenting stupid shit,” He almost grits his teeth out of anger, but his expression only shows disappointment. “About how I was always expected to be a rat, and then I had to speak up about it but, here I am, wearing the clothes of the brand everyone says I am using to stop working with Sehun.”

“…I am sure Sehun doesn’t believe the rumors.”

“But it makes me feel so bad.” Chanyeol whines, long and big fingers interlocking with one another as  a way of keeping himself sane. “Do people really believe I am a rat?”

Her eyes soften at that, placing one hand over his shoulder to reassure him that everything would be okay. “Those who do, don’t know you.” She says, and it is quite stupid—because she has only known him for a week, but if there is an antonym to what greatness really is, Chanyeol would not be the concept of it. “Besides, you can’t give them the benefit of seeing you give up because of them. You have to go up that runway and kill it with that pet-cone sleeve of yours.”

She tries to be funny, and it seems to work because Chanyeol’s expression changes from sadness to confusion and suddenly, surprise, a smile beaming on his face as he claps his hands together, something she has learned he does when he laughs—if he can do it, he potentially slaps someone’s shoulder. “Call it fashion.” Chanyeol says in between laughter before pressing his lips together in the sweetest smile he has mustered that afternoon. “Thank you for being so nice to me.”

“Anytime.”

The complexity of talking with Chanyeol is not caused by the man himself, it is part of the situation that they are in. She’s a makeup artist, he is a model, and while they share some time together, there are far more important things that he has to concentrate on. She watches from the screens backstage as he walks, powerful and with a straight face, his legs toned with every movement and the thought of Chanyeol making up his mind thanks to her warms her heart. It brings her a sense of purpose, to know that the fashion industry was difficult for everyone was simple knowledge—but if she could do so much as making someone feel better with her words and makeup skills, then it is more than enough.

By the time Chanyeol comes backstage, she is ready to congratulate him for a great show, but whenever she gets close to him, he is interrupted by someone else. An interviewer, for example; a stylist fixing his hair, or wrapping golden chains around his neck. Then come the pictures, models approaching him to show their friends that they were in the same fashion week as Park Chanyeol, the famous model, and that is her cue to know that she should probably give up on trying to establish conversation with him.

A feeling that twists and turns on her stomach, rising up to her heart and clinging to it for dear life, is what she calls jealousy. What she is jealous of, she doesn’t know.

✈️

“Whoa, Doah’s boyfriend must have been very pretty if their son looks like that. He’s adorable!”

In the order of women in Doah’s blood, she got cheated on time and time again, ending up as a single mother just like everyone else in her family had done. Doah believed she was going to be the exception, she remembers, much more when she is packing up to go stay with her for the first few months of her son’s childhood. Paris begs her to stay, with its beautiful sceneries and the delicious pastries she had for breakfast this morning, but there are duties that need to be fulfilled—and she also doesn’t think she would ever be able to pay a room in that hotel, if it wasn’t for the company she is trying to get a spot on booking and paying for her stay.

She is not packing anything last minute, only the essentials that would go inside her backpack, and the last pair of pajamas she wore the previous night. Jenn has taken the time to look through her phone, laughing at certain pictures that she had stupidly taken of herself when she is bored, commenting on beautiful pictures that she has of sceneries and, of course, apart from downloading one—or two—pictures of Park Chanyeol in all his model glory, she takes the time to look at the high quality photograph of Doah’s baby. In awe, she is, not that she would have ever expected Jenn, out of all people, to be touched by the sight of a baby.

“Yeah, a beautiful cheating bastard.” She says, putting on her shoes and making sure that her red lipstick was still intact after having one too many croissants. “She told him she was pregnant when she was two months in and the only thing this asshole could say was,” She clears her throat to imitate his idiotic deep voice. “Not my woman to take care of, not my problem.”

Jenn gasps, locking her phone and putting it down on the woman’s lap as she rested on the big, queen sized bed of her bedroom. The hotel room consisted of two bedrooms and a bathroom, in this case. “That’s fucking it. That’s why I don’t even consider dating men. Fuck him.” Those words make her smile, standing up to place her phone inside her backpack securely before yawning deeply. There is something about staying in a hotel room with the softest mattress in the world, and that is that she has had her best night of sleep in a while. Snoring Jenn on the other room or not. A minute of silence passes by—and that is like a year in Jenn’s calendar—so she speaks up. “And you’re staying with Doah for a few months, correct?”

“She has managed to buy a pretty house by the countryside, so yes. While I am jobless, I will stay with her—you know, drive to the city if I get some gig to complete and then, go back.”

“You’re not going to be jobless for long. Madrid is coming, baby, and not only that…but there is always some lazy celebrity that doesn’t know how to contour and needs us. Needs talented people like you.” Jenn always looks at the brighter side of things, and she demonstrates it with the way she lives her life. The perfectly put-together woman stands up from her spot on the bed to stretch before pointing towards the bathroom. “I am going to pee. Don’t leave without me.”

She hums, smiling a bit to the older woman. Although, if anyone ever were to ask who is older, anyone would say that it was her, not Jenn. “As if I would leave you.”

Jenn clicks her tongue, opening the door to the bathroom before looking over her shoulder. “I was left in Bali by a few friends because ‘they couldn’t see me’ and if that doesn’t speak about my choices in friends, then I don’t know what does.”

With a chuckle, she takes the little time she has left to warm up her hands and look for her coat, the coldness in Paris making it all so much more inviting to stay in bed and simply rest all the tiredness away. However, the sound of someone knocking on her door has her frowning, thinking that maybe one of the other MUA’s had left something in their makeup bags. She trots over to the door, opening it without thinking twice but the moment she looks up, she is not met by the sight of one of the other makeup artists that worked with her in Paris Fashion Week. Chanyeol is there, in all his glory, but instead of wearing those exotic piece of clothing that they clad him in whenever he is on the runway, he is adorned in an oversized hoodie and ripped jeans, a cap covering his blonde hair with his big ears poking out from the sides.

“Chanyeol?” She speaks his name softly, a smile appearing over her features because she can, and she did. The man shares a grin of his own as well, biting down on his bottom lip as he stares at her. It is brief, nothing too long to make things awkward, but she does notice how his eyes go from her eyes to her lips, then over her eyes again after lingering on the red lipstick.

“That’s my name.” He indicates before he points to the backpack that hangs from her shoulders. “I was right about you leaving at this time, then.”

“You’re not leaving right now, too?”

“I have an interview this afternoon and I leave at night.” Chanyeol says and she hums. The man is always busy, alike Sehun, and she wonders how his skin is still as intact as it is with the amount of stress he probably goes through. The man pushes something towards her hands and she looks down to see what seems to be a bag filled with clothing, but a white paper rested upon the folded pieces of clothing. “I talked to my favorite brands and I got some clothing that I feel would fit you really well, and that I really like, and as a goodbye…gift. Well, a ‘see you later’ gift.”

“You shouldn’t have. Oh my God, Chanyeol!” The way he looks at her is enchanted, like he is in a trance as she gets out the folded piece of paper that was inside the bag. “And this is—”

Before she could continue her sentence, Chanyeol’s phone cuts through the atmosphere terribly, making him sigh before he reaches for his jeans’ back-pocket, taking his phone out and picking up the call immediately. “Yes, Yixing, I am on my way. I told you I had to make a stop first.” The sound of Yixing talking on the other end has Chanyeol nodding and she wants to feel honored, much more when Chanyeol stopped by when he has a day filled with activities to complete. By the time Chanyeol speaks to her once again, their time together has shortened for a few minutes—and she hears the sound of Jenn walking around the hotel room, probably trying to listen to what they were saying. “Uh, so yeah. Read the thing on the piece of paper and—” Chanyeol stops himself from speaking so quickly, opening his arms slightly as if to welcome her with a hug. “And could I have a hug? To say goodbye.”

“Y-Yeah.” She whispers, pushing her body forward to wrap her arms around his waist. Chanyeol’s hugs are sweet, with his cheek pressed to the top of her head and his arms wrapping around her tightly, but they do not last for long—of course, he is busy, and Yixing has probably already given him an earful of what he has to do throughout the day. “Thank you for the gifts.”

“It’s nothing.” Chanyeol says before nodding his head, waving his hand to say his goodbyes. He does say the word verbally, but she is far too concentrated on the smell of his cologne that now falls upon her.

God, she is starting to believe that Chanyeol has the effect of making her giggle like a fourteen years old girl that has just gotten her crush to hug her.

By the time the door is closed, she rushes to look at what the paper says—and Jenn is obviously by her side, making too many questions that she answers in a half-assed manner as she reads what the paper says:

Text me! And then, his number.

✈️

The benefits of being an adult is that texting first is not a problem anymore. The turmoil that comes with knowing what to write to someone you like is not as tedious anymore, it is bearable and it comes with a big batch of ‘I just need to try to see how it goes’, leading to her finally texting Chanyeol. She does it two days after he gave her his number, when she is finally well rested and when Doah’s baby is not crying loudly from the other room.

Doah’s sense of style was impeccable, and it shows through his new house—although small, the tones of dark green, beige and white create such an earth-filled atmosphere. The trees around them and the sound of the lake nearby would have been very relaxing if only there wasn’t a newborn in the household. She reminds herself that she is there for Doah, a woman that is new to the entire industry of being a mother, and instead of helping out with the baby—she keeps the house clean, cooks a few meals before leaving for the city. Two weeks after the fashion week, she has found some jobs to fulfill and an empty inbox in her e-mail account that indicated that neither Doah nor her had been picked, yet, for the new MUA position in the company.

And Chanyeol still has to respond.

The week has been busy, to the point she doesn’t even want to wash the dishes that come with the big amount of dinner she just had with Doah, but seeing the woman breastfeeding by the counter let her know that there was little to no time in the mother’s agenda for her to do any important chore. She looks out the window, seeing the night sky and the lights of the houses nearby. Thankfully for Doah, her hard work for the past few years in another company—one that she had never wanted to join for their strict rules—had led her to buy a house where her son could grow up comfortably. Humble and candid, the place was, although she missed her apartment in the city life a lot more. Nowadays, she could only stop by there to do so much before she had to return to the road to have an hour long ride back to Doah’s house, just in time to be met by dinner.

Her phone rings but her hands are full with dish soap, playing around with the sponge in between her hands while getting those bits of fried egg away from the pan. Doah still did not learn the importance of oil, as it seems. “Someone’s texting you.” Doah says, widening her eyes when her phone rings again. And again. Three times until it comes to a stop. “Geez. Is that your crazy aunt that always comments on your pictures on Instagram? I have never seen your phone blow up like that.”

“Probably.” She chuckles before pointing towards her phone with her drenched hands. “It must be Jenn. She texts like a mad man. You know my password, right?”

“What kind of best friend do you take me for?”

She scrubs on the pan once again, shrugging her shoulders. “I guess my type of best friend, because I, for sure, don’t know your password.”

Doah seems to ignore her remark, instead gasping and smiling at the person that had texted her. She thinks that maybe Jenn attached some pictures of the beautiful Tokyo—apparently, she had a gig there for a new fashion line’s photoshoot—but she is met with nothing less than the name of someone she should have expected. “Chanyeol has texted you.”

She stops washing the dishes almost immediately, wiping her hands in the back of her sweatpants to take her phone in between them. Quite like Jenn, and maybe it was an ‘energetic people’ stereotype or something that she didn’t quite get the memo of, but he had written with a bunch of exclamation marks at first. “Sorry, I couldn’t respond any earlier! I have been so busy. I didn’t mean to make you wait.” He adds in the primordial part of the text, but then another bubble appears to indicate that he wants to say more. “Hello, beautiful. How are you?!” And that, she realizes, that he uses a lot of exclamation points and emoticons. As if it is necessary to include that he is very happy to be talking to her. “Have you gotten the job? I keep asking Yixing but he doesn’t know…”

She sits down on one of the chairs, opening her legs comfortably at the position. “No worries, Chanyeol. Haha.” She starts with that, then deciding to comply more to her message. “And I haven’t heard anything back, yet. I am starting to believe that I won’t get the job.”

Maybe, he is in a country with a similar time-zone, or he is free at that moment, but he sees it immediately and replies equally as fast. “Don’t think that! You’re a super, super, super talented makeup artist, and models loved you!” She smiles down at her phone, hearing Doah chuckle to herself as if the sight of her friend being excited about a man texting her was a sight that she enjoyed. It probably was, for the last time she talked to someone with such a smile on her face, she ended up getting friend-zoned. “Sehun says you’re dumb if you say you aren’t getting the job.”

“Sehun is with you? Where are you, to start with?”

“Dubai!” Chanyeol exclaims through text excitedly and she can’t help but imagine the man taking pictures of everything. The more she hopes is that he is enjoying his visit there. “He is actually watching TV beside me. We share rooms when he is feeling sappy, and whatnot.”

She fights the urge to say ‘cute’ about the remark, because she could imagine them watching some movie that they could not quite understand, both with their faces stuck to their phone-screen as a way of distracting themselves. “Okay, I’ll take his word. What have you done the past few weeks?”

Talking to Chanyeol that night becomes easy, because he simply spills his heart out like a poet does in their poems. The beauty of his words is not particularly difficult, he speaks casually and she does as well, saying her good nights to Doah that decides to put her son to sleep while she lays on the couch, smiling at whatever Chanyeol is talking about. He sends her pictures of the meals he wants to have when he goes back home, as well as taking a picture of Sehun sleeping by his side, eyebrows furrowed and lips parted funnily, a little bit of drool falling to the side of his face. She loses track of time, even going as far as sending him a picture of one of the shirts he had given her.

He’s happy about that.

But he talks about his dreams, too, and they are as simple as saying that he just wants to be happy. He says that he wanted to launch his career in music, but that models aren’t well-welcomed in such a place. He talks about how Sehun is actually taking a nap and that they have an appearance in some ‘icon’ party that apparently includes the most iconic celebrities of the year. She tells him not to drink. He says that he is not a lightweight and then, he comments:

“I can imagine you nagging at me in the back of my head with that pretty voice of yours.”

Maybe, it is too quick to think of what his words mean—they have no meaning, really, just harmless flirting, but she can only hope that the smile he gave her that night in the Spanish themed party will only be for her. It’s selfish, and perhaps the distance between the two makes her feel that way, but it is a growing feeling that burns at the back of her chest, from her sternum to her spine.

✈️

At the end, she does get that e-mail. Four weeks and six days after Paris Fashion Week happened, and the moment she tells Chanyeol, she receives a congratulatory message…hours after she sent it. It’s fine, she tries to reason with herself, that he is busy and he texts her as much as he can, but she can’t help but feel like she has started to crush in the example of what impossibility would be like.

That was two months ago.

She tries to distract herself with her work; thankfully for her air-sickness, she hasn’t gotten to travel much, instead going to closer places to work with smaller boutiques and brands that need to get their models’ makeup done, but what she didn’t expect was for a big brand to go to her city, simply to take a photoshoot in front of bustling streets, gray buildings and in between the mess of traffic that happens in her part of town. Her fingers tuck strands of hair behind her ears as she organizes her makeup, making sure that everything is organized by color as she hears the doors opening. The makeup room is small, so she supposes she will be the only makeup artist working—and apparently, she only has to do makeup for four models, nothing too crazy.

She swipes her powder brush against the back of her hand, already starting with her greeting before turning around. “Good morning, I am—Sehun?” When she turns around, she catches a glimpse of the man that she has already seen various times. His hair is a bit longer than the last time she saw him, over two months ago, styled with gel and tied in a ponytail to show his undercut. He is carrying a coffee cup, probably filled with as much caffeine as possible, wearing beige pants and a pink turtleneck, paired with a denim jacket. Something that she envies, the makeup room isn’t exactly warm.

The man greets her, sitting down on the seat in front of the vanity, definitely a repetition of previous events, before crossing one leg over the other. “You’re definitely not Sehun. I am Sehun.”

“I know.” She chuckles, already knowing what kind of shade she has to use with him and what kind of skin he has. Taking her beauty blender in between her hands, moistening it up a bit, she continues. “I just didn’t expect to see you here, and without Chanyeol. Really. You two are like the Olsen’s but Korean.”

Sehun smiles, putting his Styrofoam cup down on the vanity before leaning back on his seat, taking his phone in between his hands and responding to whatever texts he has. “He is not part of this campaign, but he’s in town. I thought you knew that.” Sehun says and perhaps, he really thought that she had a single clue that Chanyeol was in her town at that moment, but she didn’t. She tries to cover her surprised expression, settling for a muffed ‘oh’ that is followed by silence. The stoic faced man looks up from his phone before widening his eyes. “Y-You didn’t?”

“I obviously wasn’t informed about the situation…” And she wonders if maybe, and only maybe, Chanyeol is actually not as into her as he makes himself to be. That the flirting and the constant nights where Chanyeol tries to get her to speak to him through voice messages or calls mean nothing. Chanyeol is constantly throwing flowers at her, whenever he can, of course, but lately…it is as if he has forgotten about her existence.

“Fuck.” Sehun cusses, deciding to ignore the situation at hand by scrolling through his Instagram. From the corner of her eye, she can see that he has over a million likes in his latest post. “But he’s very busy, too, so maybe that’s that. He’s shooting a commercial for a skincare brand, but it is taking him longer because he grew a few pimples the day of the shoot.”

“I see…” She comments, torn in between believing the man or not, after all…Chanyeol could have just told her so. “But tell me about your campaign.” Not wanting to talk about the subject anymore, she changes the topic towards Sehun.

She really tries to be strong, to not text him and ask him why exactly he hadn’t talked about the miniscule—rather big, really—fact that was his stay at the exact same city that she is at. She talks about it with Doah, hearing the woman already coming up with some kind of deep storyline that indicates that Chanyeol is actually in “a relationship” and “using her to boost his ego”, but she thinks it is almost impossible. Instead, she concentrates on her work, on being better and doing better, on watching those tutorials that she kept on a playlist for new looks to try on the models.

Two days after her encounter with Sehun, when she is getting ready to drive back to the countryside to meet up with her friend, she feels her phone buzzing inside her purse. She sighs, placing her purse on top of the hood of her car before picking up the call, the name of Chanyeol shining bright on the screen—for a moment, she completely forgets that she is supposed to be mad at him, or that she wanted him to reach out for her first.

“What?” She asks, not meaning to sound as rude as she did as she looked for the keys to her car inside her purse. Chanyeol seems to notice her change of demeanor, speaking soon after.

“I know Sehun told you about me being here, but I was too busy to text you.” Like always, but should she be mad? She is obviously travelling less than him, but it feels like she is the one in the chase whenever she responds to him as quickly as possible and he leaves her on read for days. Maybe, she is just a hobby for him, something that he wants to do for a night or two, but doesn’t want to deal with for a long period of time. “But hey! If you’re in the city, I want to invite you to dinner—and I have already sent you the address through text, so we could catch up and I can finally give you a big hug.”

The hug sounds inviting, but she is still slightly mad at Chanyeol. “Why should I accept?” She plays around, pressing her stomach against the side of her car and looking at the flickering lights of one of the buildings in the street that she was in.

“…Because they have the best pizza I have ever tried in my life?”

“I could have it by my own.”

“Listen, I am so sorry.” Chanyeol whines on the phone, bringing a smile to her face as she finally opens the door to her car, grabbing her purse and putting it inside as she pulls her phone away from her ear, putting it on speaker to look through her texts. A fancy restaurant, he had picked. “I am such an idiot and I would hit myself if I were you, but I am not you and I am willing to buy you the entire menu if you just come here right now.”

She sighs, putting her phone down on the passenger seat as she starts the car. “Only because you owe me an apology…and because that pizza sounds inviting tonight.”

Luckily for her, Chanyeol is not dressed as fancily as she would have imagined, simply wearing an oversized tank top tucked inside his black jeans, topped over with a coat that reaches his knees. His hair is still blonde, pushed to the side as he waits for her outside. He doesn’t seem to mind that some people look at him, or that they see her with him at all, because he pushes his body off the wall to smile at her mere presence.

With a breathy tone, he places his hands on top of her shoulders and pushes her forward to go past the security at the entrance. “I’ll give you that hug once we get inside. People are looking.” The promise Chanyeol gives her sounds inviting, much more when she enters the heavily decorated place. Still, it seems inviting, the smell of cheese and sauce, as well as lasagna and pizza, immediately reaching her nostrils and making her hum. Chanyeol wraps an arm around her shoulder, smiling gleefully as he walks themselves to the table at the very end, near the biggest window in the place. “I really missed, you know?”

She wants to bite back, to show how troubled she felt when Sehun confessed that Chanyeol was in town, but instead she caved in: “I missed you, too.”

“Two months without seeing you. You need to tell me how this new contract is going on.”

“Well, I do makeup. That’s the whole ordeal.” She comments, sitting down in front of him at the table, only to have him smiling as he pushes a menu towards her way. Chanyeol studies her face, like he always does, even going as far as looking at the small amount of cleavage her shirt shows. “Have you gotten to go to Seoul?”

Chanyeol chuckles softly, shaking his head as he looks down at the menu to search for something to eat. “I haven’t. I’ve been living in hotels for the past three months.” Even before he met her, that’s for sure. “That’s why I wanted to have dinner with you. You’re the closest I feel to home.” Those words shouldn’t have warmed her up like they did, to the point she had to play with the collar of her shirt to stop the heat that radiated from her skin. Chanyeol’s eyes are wide, filled with emotion when he smiles once again. A charmer, as always. “There is something about you. You calm me down…and that is what I need in a world like the one I live in. For one moment, I just want to say fuck it to the world. That’s why I like you so much.”

Like, a word that he uses so easily, as if it doesn’t bring a heavy weight to her chest. She looks down at the menu, hiding her face behind it to stop herself from saying anything stupid. “Stop…”

“Hey, I mean it.” Chanyeol says, pushing the menu down to lean over the table and look at her. His fingers reach to pinch her cheek, making her smile softly at the man. “I know it doesn’t seem like it…but I really like you. I think you’re amazing. Beautiful smile, incredible talent. Intelligent, caring, kind, humble—”

“Keep going and I may just forgive you.” She jokes around, placing her hand on top of the one that rests upon her face before caressing the skin softly, bringing it down to rest upon the tablecloth. “But I am glad we are on the same page.”

The night is eventful, in between bites of food and sips of soda. The world seems to waltz around them, much more when he says his goodbyes with a lingering hug and a kiss on the cheek. It feels right, slow but perfectly paced. Just how she likes it.

But wait.

Chanyeol said he liked her, right?!

Liked her as a person, or as something else, she doesn’t know. What she knows is that being liked is better than nothing.

✈️

“This feels like my husband is leaving me and our son behind after our divorce. It’s sad.”

The fake sniffling comes from Doah, now with a four-month old baby seated on her lap—with the cutest few strands of brown hair and the most rounded dark eyes. There is not much to pack after Doah agreed to let her go back to the city, for the payment of the fuel was falling heavy on her pocket and also, because Doah already knew how to take care of a baby on her own. Either way, it had been a nice experience; a reminder of what it used to feel like when they were roommates, but with bigger dreams and less giggly moments.

That is part of growing up, and while Doah remains as youthful as ever personality-wise, she has grown up with the birth of her child. Much more poised, definitely as loving as ever but more protective than she ever was to anyone in this world. “We are not getting a divorce, first off. I’ll still come visit anytime I can, mostly on weekends.” She replies, pushing her backpack over her shoulder after finishing up packing up the few things she had in Doah’s house. A second toothbrush, some of her shirts and a few shoes. Everything could enter in her wide and useful backpack. “And why am I the husband?”

“You’re the one that leaves.” The comment is part of Doah’s dark humor, standing up and securing her son around her arms as they walk towards the entrance. When she opens the door, the air is cold against the fabric of her fluffy white sweater, making her pull her boyfriend jeans up her hips a little bit more to cover extra skin. “Say bye to your daddy, David. Come on.”

She scoffs, letting David’s tiny hand grab her finger and waving it with a smile on her face. “Don’t say I’m his daddy. You know he’s at that point of his life where he is learning everything, and the least I want is to hear him call me ‘dada’ anytime soon. Or ever.” She kisses the baby’s hand before putting it down, hearing Doah retort with a fake sniffle.

“You just were an angel. I’d marry you if you were a man…but the lack of a pee-pee changes it all.”

“Doah, for the love of God—” She mumbles to herself, giving a few steps forward before walking backwards. “Thank god you didn’t say the D word in front of your son. I’d personally take him away from you to the city to raise him myself.”

Doah smiles at the sound of her friend’s voice, leaning on the railing of her door with David playing with the necklace that hangs from her neck. “You know why I didn’t use the D word?”

“Why?” She asks innocently, but she should have expected Doah to say something remotely inappropriate.

“Because Chanyeol is already giving it to you.”

“Okay, I’m leaving. That’s it.”

The weight of her keys feels foreign on her hand, much more when she opens the door to her apartment to realize that she won’t have to listen to the cries of a baby anymore. The old couple next door that still hit it up as if they were on their twenties would probably be more like it, but she has already grown accustomed to that noise, rolling over her bed to cover her ears with her pillow. The first thing she thinks about after an hour long trip is that she feels dizzy, with an empty stomach and a weighted mind. She walks over to her kitchen, opening the refrigerator to be met with something to make, but there is nothing. In the drawers, there is also nothing and then, she is reminded of the very important—still, ignored—fact that she had taken all the food she had in her apartment to Doah’s house.

Out the apartment as quickly as she had arrived, she was. The snow is finally starting to make place around the streets and she greets the old day—half of the old couple that she was thinking about earlier—with a wave as she rushes down the stairs to get to the closest convenience store. One block away, she remembers, and she thinks she can do it without actually passing out from hunger.

What she regrets first is not putting on a coat as the small speckles of snow fall upon her equally as white sweater. She walks through the streets as she tries not to pump into people, ignoring the vibration of her phone in the front pocket of her jeans because the least she wants is to get her phone stolen from taking it out in one of the busiest days of the year. Delinquency was growing in this side of town, the news had said a few weeks ago, and she had kept that thought in mind, even talking about it with Chanyeol, who had told her time and time again to be careful.

She pushes the doors of the convenience store open, rubbing her hands together and placing them inside her pockets for a brief second while her eyes look for a cart. Once found, she takes it in between her fingers and basks in the niceness of the heater in the store. It’s fairly quiet, too, apart from some pop song that plays in the background as she starts to go over her mental grocery list. However, as she starts to pick up what is important for her to have in her apartment, she feels her phone vibrating once again.

She takes the device out, thinking that it was probably Doah not knowing what to do now that she was alone, but she was warmed up by the sight of Chanyeol’s name. She pushes the green button, resting her phone in between her shoulder and her ear as she pushes the cart. Is ramen necessary in her apartment? Quite possibly. “Sorry I didn’t answer before, I had to drive from Doah’s and I realized I was out of groceries so I had to walk to the nearest convenience store.”

Chanyeol sighs, almost a sigh of relief. It reminds her of the plenty of video-calls that they have shared; specially, one where she decided to hide from the screen until Chanyeol started to call out of her name confusedly. When she popped up on the screen, the man screamed so loudly that the only reaction he had when she started laughing was a sigh. “You had me worried for a second.” He replies before he continues. “Was Doah okay with you moving?”

“She used some kind of metaph0r about it. Me being her husband leaving her behind or something.” Chanyeol chuckles softly, but she can tell that he is not totally into it. His voice is tired, as if he has been straining himself, and he has yet to go back to Seoul to meet up with his family. He told him this a week prior to that moment, when he was speaking about how he had mentioned her name to his mother and she had immediately thought he was dating someone. They were…flirting buddies, she would like to call it, rather than anything special in a long distance manner. “What about you? Weren’t you in Bangkok?”

“I am, still. I’m leaving in…in three days…” His voice is interrupted by his yawn and she immediately frowns at the sound of his voice, continuing with her multitasking.

“You should really sleep.”

“It’s not that late here. Four in the morning.”

“That’s extremely late. Go to sleep.”

“I slept, but I think it was the afternoon and I just woke up and I am lost.”

She smiles at that, imagining Chanyeol’s hair bundled into a mess of straight strands, falling over his eyes slightly, puffy and reddened from tiredness. “Good. Are you going to Seoul after Bangkok?”

Chanyeol groans at that and she hears the sound of ruffling against covers on the other hand. “Nope. Mr. Workaholic decided to tell me that I have a snack commercial in Italy. Venice, I think.” A snack commercial. Quite ironic, because she has had a handful of conversations with Doah where they call him a “snack”. But, what can she say? Maybe the saying of ‘you are what you eat’ as finally gotten to him.

“Is Mr. Workaholic Yixing?”

“Indeed. He’s such a workaholic that his crush is someone from the PR office, and if that isn’t…a workaholic, I don’t know what is.” Chanyeol comments and soon after, she takes a moment to stop on her tracks and see what else she needs. Perhaps, a few sanitary products in case she needs them. “By the way, what are you doing next week?”

“Nothing planned. I am doing a gig outside the company on Sunday, to earn some more money. But they haven’t called me to do anything yet.”

“What if I hire you and you go to Venice with me, and apart from doing my makeup we also get to hang out for a bit?” Chanyeol comments, quite quickly, as if it is the simplest thing in the world—and for him, it is. Sometimes, she realizes that they live completely different lives. Chanyeol lives off being on stages, he talks to big groups of people, he has to take pictures on a daily with photographers in order to post something on his social media and keep his fans updated. He has people following after his every trend. Meanwhile, she talks to him through a phone and travels thanks to a company, not because she actually has to. How could he understand her so perfectly, when in reality they are nothing alike?

“I would tell you you’re crazy.” She comments, accommodating her neck when she feels a sudden pang of ache hitting her muscles. “But…are you serious?”

“Of course I am! I would like for you to do my makeup, and I’d pay your ticket for you to be here.”

“I…No. It doesn’t feel right to have you pay for my ticket.” She comments, shaking her head profusely at the thought. “Tell the company and I will do it, but I won’t do anything sneakily.”

“Okay, I’ll have Yixing on it.” Chanyeol replies and soon after, his comment paralyzes her in her spot, making her drop a package of baby wipes she had in between her hands. “Maybe, next time we see each other I won’t only give you a hug, but also a kiss.”

Venice sounds promising to her, now, as she tries to look for words that can only be replaced with a chuckle.

✈️

But just like always, the promise of a romantic Venice dies as she only gets to see Chanyeol for an hour at a time. His commercial takes longer than usual, or perhaps he has other things to attend to, and he ends up leaving her with the hanging promise of a kiss that never happens.

She should be happy that she gets to talk and joke around with Chanyeol when she does his makeup, that sometimes she feels the warmth of his palm sneaking up her waist when she gets close too close to his face and he looks at her as if he is going to kiss her, but an ode to separated lovers keeps them apart when they realize they are surrounded by other people of his team. Chanyeol’s eyes glimmer when he says his goodbyes, promising that he will try to finish everything early to go and pick her up in her hotel room and take her out for dinner, to study Venice, to be tourists for once and enjoy the world, but she is always met by the sight of her phone displaying Chanyeol’s name, only to hear apology after apology after apology.

The man she likes starts to become a broken record. A client that always asks for something else. A lawyer that never meets up with you. All analogies to how Chanyeol made her feel, how disappointed she was that he did not even have the slightest time for her.

The crunching sound of cookies matches her chewing as she stares off at the television show in front of her. Some romance movie plays in the background, and she is sulking because most movies include a couple that go through hardships, but at the end they are the happiest when together—they find a way to make it work. But there she is—she is not even dating Chanyeol to start with, and whenever they are together in the same place, they can’t find the time to be with one another. She almost wants to pick up the remote and change it, but she is being a bit of a masochist that night. Be it by watching a couple laugh whilst in a date in a movie, or thinking about Chanyeol; she just feels like thinking about what she shouldn’t be.

She covers herself up with her blanket, pulling it over her head like a hood and wrapping it around her chin to cover her from the coldness, but she has other things to think about—like how she should just take a plane back home and pretend that she is not being an idiot while being there for Chanyeol. Nonetheless, the sound of someone knocking on her door makes her straighten her back, standing up from the hotel bed to walk towards the door.

Of course, life is a déjà-vu and the person by her door is Chanyeol. He’s a nighttime visitor, standing there with a smile on his face and what seems to be boxes of takeout.

“Chanyeol.” She enunciates. Her arms are crossed over her chest, leaning against the door as she realizes that the man has a faint smile on his face, the type he gives when he knows he is in trouble. “I wonder what you tell the receptionist of each hotel I go to just to appear right in front of me.”

Chanyeol’s tongue pokes at the inside of his cheek, trying to look for an excuse but he simply sighs deeply. “I am sorry. I’ve been so busy and I’ve ignored you so bad, so I wanted to make it up to you.”

“As always.”

“But this time, this time it’s better!” The man points out and she nods her head, biting her bottom lip when she pushes her weight off the door and points for him to get inside. Chanyeol smiles brightly, like the sun has taken place on his face, and the next thing he does is enter the hotel room. He sits down by the edge of the bed, on the floor, and she thinks it’s just his way of being respectful, threatening to grin at the thought. “You know how in our first date we had pizza—and it was good, but we’re in Italy out of all places, so I brought us the real deal.”

She chuckles, taking a seat beside him on the floor to help him get the boxes out of bag he had brought with himself. “What is this real deal you’re talking about?”

“Lasagna and pizza, but real.”

“I am sure the pizza we had at the restaurant was very real.”

Chanyeol groans, opening one of the lids of the boxes to fill the room in the smell of sauce, cheese and deliciously baked goodness. “Stop being a dick to me.” The man comments and she smiles, watching as he takes one of the plastic forks the boxes brought with themselves in between his fingers to slice a bit of the lasagna before feeding it to her. “Come on, open up. Use that mouth for something that is not questioning everything I do.”

She raises an eyebrow at him, trying to suppress the chuckle that left her lips soon after. Chanyeol’s cheeks glimmer in pink when he says those words, feeding the bit of lasagna to her and the next thing he hears is a hum. She covers her mouth to speak. “Oh my God—”

“Is it the best thing you’ve tasted in your life?”

“Kind of.”

“Yeah, made it myself.” Chanyeol lies, taking a bite of it with the same fork before placing the box over her legs, reaching for a squarer shaped box that included the pizza. He opens it by the time she takes another bite of the lasagna.

“You’re such a liar.” But then again, she always goes back to him. Chanyeol is a magnet, and she’s always pulled by him. He takes a slice of pizza, the cheese parting away deliciously as he folds it over the pizza for the strand to end. It is nice to see him eat something that he enjoys, away from the thought of having to keep his figure—only enjoying a night with her.

“Then this liar won’t let you play with my PS1.”

She decides to take a slice of pizza as well, settling the lasagna in between their bodies as she speaks. “You brought a PS1?” She asks, excitement lingering on her voice when she watches the backpack Chanyeol had worn by his side, making her wonder if he had actually thought about this date beforehand. “Depends on what game we’re playing.” Chanyeol slices a bit of the lasagna, resting it on top of his pizza and making her groan in disgust as he takes a bite. “Yeol, don’t mix foods like that—”

With his mouth half open, he speaks. “Crash Team Racing, babe.” The nickname has her stomach fluttering, thinking that maybe she should be more understanding of the situation. Chanyeol is trying, she could tell, and her impatience was getting the best of her. “And let me get creative. Both the lasagna and the pizza go to the same place, they’ll end up being digested food at the same time…it’s not that big of a deal.”

Chanyeol brings comfort with him, she notices, and it comes in the shape of their legs intertwined as they lay on the floor, playing match after match of an old videogame as they laughed about everything and anything.

Not to be mistaken, the man is quite clearly and palpably competitive, to the point he had to tickle her in a race just to win—but he learns how to lose with her, quite thankfully. The night is not heavy, it doesn’t linger with tension and much less does it feel like it is forced; they have been seated there for hours, not saying empty promises but getting to know each other simply through spending time together. In one of those moments, in between one of the many racing matches they had, he hears his phone ringing. Pausing the videogame for a second, he puts it down on the floor and puts it on speaker.

“Yes, Publicist Nam?” Chanyeol speaks, his fingers still moving against the controller as he finds himself in fourth place—she’s in seventh after one of his attacks, but she thinks she can surpass him easily. However, her ears are making out the figure of what this publicist of his is saying on the other end of the phone.

“Chanyeol…Where are you?” The man asks, sounding older in tone and in ways of speaking.

“I’m with my friend in her hotel room. The makeup artist. Why?” He asks, moving his legs when he gets to the first place. It is quite the sight to see him happy, being youthful and filled with life instead of having this perfect façade put up for everyone to see.

The publicist seems displeased by his answer, however. “Get over here now. We have told you that you can’t hang out with people like that. What would you do if you ended up having a scandal, huh?” He starts to nag and Chanyeol immediately widens his eyes, letting go of the controller to grab his phone and talk to his publicists in anything that isn’t on speaker.

Now she realizes that Chanyeol is trying, for her or for them, that he is going against his own team to be with her. It scares her, to never see him again as he speaks through the phone—he seems to be apologizing, coming up with any excuse before he actually turns to her. His apologies are usual, she thinks she is starting to become immune to them as she helps him clean up and opens the door for him. What he does last, of course, is give her a hug as tight as the ones he has given her before and the promise of a kiss is out the door, to the point she doesn’t even care about it. It just scares her that every time they say their goodbyes, it will be the last time she will be able to talk to him.

The concept of love is evolution, growth—but people cover it as neediness, affection. You can feel so much for someone, but if you don’t grow with them, it feels pointless. It is not love, not anything remotely close to it, and maybe she should have thought of them as a book and a movie. Chanyeol lives quickly; he resumes everything that can be composed in three hours of a film. She is a book; she likes to rant and think about the smallest details. How Chanyeol covers his mouth when he thinks he has said something wrong, how he is given to anything that he does, he has a routine and lives by it. The man loves travelling, but he loves his family so much more and his best friend is another model, as well.

It makes her saddened that she studies the twinkles in his eyes, that the weight of his hand on hers when he says his goodbyes after every makeup session is just what she needs, especially if it’s paired with one of those soft kisses he gives to her cheek. No longer does she study Chanyeol as a person for the rest of the five days she has left in Venice, but she sees the most tedious of things around him. She notices that she wishes she had a space in Chanyeol’s life; like the ring he wears every day, carved with the initials of his mother; like the guitar that he says he keeps in his childhood room and that whenever he goes back to Seoul, he can’t seem to let go of. She is jealous of time, for not giving him to her, of the world for having him and not her.

It’s the thought of lacking him in her life that makes her really wonder what she feels for him. Is it just a crush or is it love? Does it have a name, does it not?

On her last day in Venice, and like a tradition in Chanyeol’s blood, he takes the time to be around her. He looks like an absolute tourist, dressed in a white t-shirt and jeans, wearing a bucket hat and sunglasses as he takes pictures of everything and anything. He is good with being in front of the camera, but she absolutely hates that she is the subject of his every picture—even more so, the man doesn’t take the best pictures for an up-and-rising model—. The sunset welcomes them as they try street food, they check out stores and spend time together. Chanyeol talks about whatever crosses his mind and he’s free, for just a second, because he has a contract and plenty of things to take care of. If he was so proud of her, then why would he basically cover half of his face?

The one at fault is not Chanyeol, but by the time they are standing in front of the sunset, looking ahead at the beauty of the colors, she decides to fix the cap over her head and speak her mind out.

“I think that what we’re doing is wrong.”

Chanyeol perks up at that, turning to look at her while resting his elbow on the railing of the balcony of his hotel room. It could basically be a house, with how fancy and big it is. Expensive, quite clearly, just like him.  “…What does that mean?” He doesn’t sound threatening, meanwhile curiousness is more of a description for that moment. His eyebrows furrow and the bucket hat is finally gone, the shadows of the sunset falling upon his skin. A little bit after golden hour, so the hues are softer.

She wants to simplify, but then again, that is not like herself. “—This—This I never thought I would have to go through. Sometimes, I just think you’re in my imagination, like you are not there. And I am not blaming you, but we both know that…that being around one another is almost impossible. You’re there, I’m here. There’s nothing we can do about it.” Now that she has spoken her mind, she realizes just how much of a dream everything has been. Not because of its sense, for she feels like what they are is nonsensical at this point, but because it rushed. There are gaps in between them, plots that have yet to be written and they do not have the time to do anything about it. Their romance is a writer’s hatred plotline, where they sit down and write certain scenes before abandoning them once again.

The man straightens his back, taking off her cap and putting it to the side before sighing. “I think I can do something about it.”

“No, Chanyeol, you can’t!” She adds with a smile, although her heart and head were hurting at that exact moment. “We both know that we only see each other for a period of time before we spend months away. It’s—And your publicists don’t even like me, so I am supposing you’re even going against your team.”

“Not all of them.”

“Huh?”

“Yixing thinks you’re pretty dope.” She scoffs at the sound of his words. “Quoting him. He just thinks you’re great.”

“Your team, minus one person, hates me.”

Chanyeol moves forward, his big hands reaching for her face to cup it in between his fingers. His thumb comes to caress her bottom lip, his eyes studying her every expression like he always does. She wants to continue talking, ramble about how she thinks they should quit it—the least she wants is to fall harder for him, only to end up heartbroken, but Chanyeol doesn’t listen. The man moves forward, wetting his lips before pressing them against hers. Maybe, his kisses show everything that he has managed to understand about her in the little time they have spent together, or perhaps he is just made for her body. He kisses her like how an artist would do to their muse, with one of his hands trailing down to the small of her back to push her forward towards his strong chest. His cupid’s bow grazes her lips before diving in once again, with certainty and all the fervor that is needed in a kiss. An expert, he is.

“Don’t shut me up when I’m talking to you.” She tells him in between kisses, feeling him walk her backwards, past the glassed doors that lead to the balcony (making sure to close them behind him), before letting her rest against the mattress. She lifts herself up on her elbows, and maybe she thinks this position was actually led by herself. Damn her for even putting her hands under Chanyeol’s shirt.

Chanyeol, however, takes her by her calves and drags her towards the edge of the bed, placing himself in between her legs to grab her by the neck and kiss her again. He doesn’t last long before he replies: “I didn’t intend to shut you up. I just really wanted to kiss you and I am not letting you regret anything that we have gone through.” Those words make her smile, because Chanyeol has tried his best to keep them together and although uncertainty is what she would call what they have, it feels like the best love affair that she has ever had. “Sorry if I came off as rude.”

“You know what was rude?” Her voice is hoarse, now that she realizes. “Making me wait almost five months just to kiss me.”

Chanyeol laughs at her words, pressing his forehead against hers and watching as her hands trail up from his abdomen to his biceps, grabbing onto them softly. “Hey, in my defense, I didn’t want to make you wait that long…but I also didn’t wanna rush it.”

“Well, you got that right. I don’t like rushing through things.”

“I am not as dumb as you think I am.” The man adds before pressing his lips softly against hers. She continues to touch him, as if she is scared that she will ever forget the curve of his shoulders or the way his waist feels when she wraps his arms around it. The weight of his body leans her back against the bed, making her pull away to look into his eyes. “Too fast?”

“Too fast.” She continues, letting her fingers go through his hair before chuckling. “I don’t want to go all the way to town tonight, boy.” She jokes around, only to hear the sweet sound of his laughter.

“That’s good with me.” Ever so sweetly he adds before she takes her hand in between hers, touching his fingers and kissing his knuckles, only to show him affection. “We go at your pace. I don’t mind.”

“But we can do other things.” She answers, watching as he tilts his head to the side before Chanyeol chuckles at her words, shaking his head as he reaches for her face, pushing her cheeks together sweetly.

“You’re the boss.” The sound of his voice is comfortable, just how she feels around him, and he leans down to press a sweet kiss to her lips that soon after turns heated. This is what she always wanted, in the shape of a forbidden love, from a person that the next day will be miles away from her. But what are a few numbers when he treats her like so?

✈️

“Last time I knew, Cupid was long dead, honey.”

The feisty old lady that lives next door speaks to her as she carries a bag of groceries in one hand, looking down at her phone with the other as she looks at one of the many pictures that Chanyeol sends her when he can. After all, it has been a bit over a month since their Venice getaway and he has spent over a week without talking to her, so seeing a recording of him running his fingers through his newly dyed black hair makes her smile gleefully. He thought of her, even when she feels like she is forgotten at times. She jumps at the sound of the old woman’s voice, watching as she smokes a cigar in the hallway—like the uncaring woman that she is—.

“Hi, Mrs. Jackson…Ah, nice to see you.” A long time ago, she has learned how to look at Mrs. Jackson in the eye after the many times that she has heard her through the walls. Absentmindedly, very accidentally, and regretfully. She greets her with the hand that holds her phone, receiving a quirked smile from the woman. “W-Why…? Why are you mentioning Cupid’s death?”

With another hit of the cigar, Mrs. Jackson gives a piece of her mind. “You’re smiling, but not the fake smile you give to the landlord.” Afraid of being caught, she feels heat radiating from her ears at the mere mention of her hypocrisy whenever she sees the landlord. Some people are just not of her liking, quite clearly, but she is not bad enough to say it straight to their faces. “What’s with the smile at your phone?”

She wants to talk about it as much as how she doesn’t want to. Chanyeol has been very secretive with this possible relationship that they have, and while they don’t necessarily give it a name, they have been very clear with what they feel. Chanyeol says he feels like he is falling for her, in one of the many calls they shared, and she talks about how she has never felt the way she feels for him with anyone else. Sehun, obviously, has made some comments while they are video-calling each other that they are basically a couple by now, but they don’t comment anything on it. “Just talking to…a guy, that’s all.”

“You? A guy?” Mrs. Jackson seems genuinely surprised. “I thought you weren’t into dating.”

“I…I am very picky, indeed.” She replies, putting her phone inside her pocket to look for her keys in her bag with only one hand. What a fucking curse.

“And does this guy live in the neighborhood?” Always asking the good questions, the nosy woman continues with her prying.

“No.”

“So he’s a foreigner.”

“Yes.” She chuckles awkwardly, finally catching her keys in between her hands before pushing them inside the doorknob, twisting them lightly to watch her door open.

Mrs. Jackson has finished her cigarette by that point, throwing it on the floor and stepping on it before opening her apartment’s door, as well. “I’m happy for you, honey.” The woman says, probably because she doesn’t remember her name. “That is the type of love a person wants. Sweet enough to induce diabetes. I hope he continues to make you smile.”

Although intentionally there to pry on her neighbor’s business, Mrs. Jackson ends it in a good note, making her smile in thankfulness. She thinks that, if given the chance, her relationship with Chanyeol would blossom beautifully, but she tries not to think of the inevitable ending in between the two. Is love really strong enough to keep two people together, even when they barely see each other? “Thank you. Have a nice day.”

She also hopes he continues to make herself smile, because if he ever so dares to break her heart, she doesn’t think she will be able to get out of it.

✈️

Madrid Fashion Week comes by, and she is not invited. Quite disappointing, really, but she has other works to attend to.

The world seems to fall into rhythm, finally, but the only part of her life that is either too fast or too slow comes from the man she has fallen for, Park Chanyeol. As expected, the man has his moment of bursting love and affection, practically telling her how much he wishes he could kiss her through a quick text or simply rambling to her about how much he misses her through video-call. Slowly but surely, she makes him a part of her daily routine; waking up to see where he is, making sure that she texts him at a proper time where she doesn’t interrupt his night of sleep—soon after, however, she is met with the reality that Chanyeol will never fall into the rhythm of her life. He won’t be in one place only, he definitely won’t be around for her to cuddle and kiss to her entire will. Chanyeol is a romance from far away, kissing her and coaxing her in love for a few days before they part once again, and she doesn’t know if that is the concept of love she had grown to dream of.

On the first day of Madrid’s fashion week, he says that he will send her a picture, but she is met with three days of complete silence. He updates his social media, he appears in interviews and the bitter taste in her mouth tells her that, for him, she will always be third or fourth place—not even second, because she would settle for someone that put their work first, and that is enough to make her feel hurt.

What happens to loving when the other person falls quiet?

A poem of Neruda is the first thing Jenn replies with. I like for you to be still or something else, that’s what she captures from what her friend tells her when she asks for advice, and it irks her terribly. Love shouldn’t be about silence; it should be about communicating even if it’s through a stare. It should feel like they were always in the same wave of feelings, not like she is constantly drowning while swimming towards the expensive ship where Chanyeol stands. She has gone weeks without hearing about him, but it hurts more whenever she gets closer to Chanyeol.

She taps her nails against her counter, watching the movement as she hears her phone ringing. Perhaps, she needs to hear her voice, or she finally needs to speak on the subject. Of course, she doesn’t want him to pick between his job and her, but she wants a little bit of commitment. For him to care, for him to try, for him to give her a space that isn’t worth a few hours every few months. She doesn’t deserve it, or at least she feels like she doesn’t. At first, he doesn’t pick up and five calls later, does she really get to hear his voice.

“Sorry. I am at a party, what’s up?” Chanyeol asks and she hears the sound of music in the background, somewhat muffled because he must have moved to somewhere quiet. Her anger boils; perhaps because she drank a glass of soda that was too sweet, or because she hates hiding the only person that she would dare to call a boyfriend. She despises that Chanyeol doesn’t give her a spot in his life, or that it is miniscule in comparison to everyone else.

“Didn’t you forget something?”

“Ah…I don’t think so.”

That’s it. If she could, she would throw the nearest slice of food to his face, if only she was in that party and not as far away as she is. “Well, you didn’t answer my text…that I sent you four days ago, don’t you remember?” The tone of her voice is the pettiest she can get, almost to the point she spits venom to the man. Chanyeol sighs deeply, and she imagines him in the bathroom crossing his arms over his chest while leaning against a wall.

“I am really trying.” And she knows, but sometimes she wishes that he would have his priorities straight. She doesn’t ask for much, perhaps a small message that tells her that ‘he is busy, and will answer her later’, but that never comes. For all she knows, he could have gotten his phone stolen, or he could be dead. There are a hundred possibilities, and none sound better than the last one. “But be a little bit more patient.”

She scoffs at that. “More patient? Chanyeol, I literally respond the second you send me a text and you take days to even consider telling me that you were busy. Don’t you think that’s unfair for me?” Now she is angered, trying to cover it up as much as she can, but her hands start to shake at the fire that she feels radiating from within.

“You need t0 understand. I am at a party right now and it’s really important for a makeup campaign I will be working in the next year—”

“I get it. I really do.” She interrupts him, wanting to be heard once in her life from the time that they have known each other. “All I am asking is just a heads up. That’s all. I have been worrying shitless about you—”

“Okay, yes, sorry. There you go.” He responds quickly, like he doesn’t mean it, and lately she feels like that is the way she would describe what they had. The more she spent thinking to herself what Chanyeol must think of her, she always convinces herself that he doesn’t mean anything that he has told her. The kisses are there to scratch an itch, he tells her that he likes her and that he loves all those things about her because he wants to sugarcoat her and the moment their relationship became serious was wonderful, but still…they hadn’t even seen each other since.

“Don’t give me that half-assed apology.”

“God! What kind of apology do you want, then?! I am being genuine!”

“I want you to feel what I feel. You don’t know how it’s like—”

“Yes, of course I know! I am also part of this relationship, if you don’t remember!” The man seems to have lost his poise, raising his voice in tone before he groans softly, lowering the sound of his voice. She’s baffled, thinking of what had made them break—but she can’t live with that uncertainty, the insecurity that comes with not knowing if he is fully in this relationship or not. “I have my dream to take care of! I haven’t even seen my family in months. Do you think I have the time to text you every time?! I try, I really do!”

Of course he does, she knows it, but all she wants is for him to take her more seriously. She doesn’t think it’s too much that she is asking for right there. “It shouldn’t be me always looking for you like a puppy! You’re not better than me because you’re rich and important and famous—” Deep within her, those facts had bothered her for long enough. Maybe, that was the reason behind their first fight. Chanyeol is famous, she is not. Chanyeol travels the world, while she mostly stays in her hometown. Chanyeol is surrounded by people who could take him away from her at any given minute, and she feels like they could.

“Who’s even talking about that? Of course I don’t think of you as some puppy!”

“I’m talking about you, because it’s never about us when it comes to our conversations.” She spits out, standing up from her seat to walk around the room to stop her freakishly racing heart. “How do you think it makes me feel that I am always the one that goes to you, and it’s never the other way around—”

“Listen, let’s talk about this—”

“And I understand your situation with your family. I am not even mentioning your family here.” Now, she is tired, like she has been drained of all the energy and instead, she has been hit by a big set of news. She feels like she can’t do it anymore, like Chanyeol will always be a thousand miles away and she will always be waiting for him. “…You know what, Chanyeol? I don’t think I can do it. I don’t think I can live with this fear that you’ll leave me at any given second. I don’t want to feel like I am the last option on your list.”

Chanyeol sighs deeply. “You’re never the last option, but this year has been so difficult for me. I only ask for more time.” The man complains, only to have her rubbing her face out of distress. She feels a headache coming up already, if it wasn’t there to stay. “And the least I want is for you to feel like I will leave you. I promise that all I think about is you. And us. It’s not always about me.”

“It damn right feels like it.”

“I’ll take a flight to your hometown if that’s what it takes then. After this fashion week—”

“I just don’t want you to come up with those ideas because you have to, because I am mad. I want you to think of it seriously.” She replies, voice softer now that she has calmed down, although she feels like she might have a heart attack right there. “And let’s be honest…your life can only get busier from now on, and as much as it hurts me, I think something needs to change.”

Once again, he seems to be stuck in whatever is his limbo. “I am trying.”

“Well, you don’t need to try anymore.” The sound of her voice breaks her heart, aching to be loved and respected, aching for the affection that she feels like is neglected from her. Is it being too damn needy to want him by her side? Is it a problem? Is she the problem in this relationship? “I feel like we should break up.”

“What?! No.” Chanyeol replies quickly. “You’re just angry-thinking. I am sure we can get through—”

“Through what? Long distance that will always be there because you live in hotels and I don’t?” Her voice is hoarse, closing her eyes tightly as she remembers that night they shared together in Venice. “It hurts me as much as it hurts you.”

“It doesn’t seem like it.” For a moment, she thinks she hears his voice becoming unclear, much more nasal than it has ever been. Was he crying, perhaps? Why does she feel like there is a dagger going through her heart? “It’s sad, really. I am actually trying for you—”

“I know.”

“Then what is the problem? I’ll get better.”

“That I don’t want to try anymore.”

The worst part was that even months after their break up, she thinks of his gaze, like a dagger that has cut right through her chest.

#chanyeol scenarios #chanyeol #exo scenarios #exo #kpop scenarios #writing #chanyeol fluff #chanyeol angst #chanyeol au #exo fluff #exo angst #exo au #runway model!chanyeol #also this idea obviously came from the what a life promo and everything according to that era #yes love blonde chanyeol please #also gimme some feedback if you read!!! i'd appreacite it so bad!!! #also very long but i am Not Surprised

[talbottoalam]

Hedi Slimane by Benjamin Chait

Aesthetics define photography and they also help in shaping a fashion sensibility. For French designer and photographer Hedi Slimane (born Paris, France, 1968) they are one in the same. Slimane is most widely recognized for his work as a fashion designer and creative director for the houses of Yves Saint Laurent, Dior Homme, Saint Laurent, and currently for his position at the house of Celine. His fashion designs are in many ways married to his photographs, specifically in their shared obsessions with youth, rock n’ roll, glamour, and California. Born in Paris, Slimane remembers picking up his first black and white camera at age eleven to begin recording the time he was living in.According to him, his preference for black and white photographs dates back all the way to Nadar, who Slimane feels is the father of the French photographic tradition he participates in with his camera. Following his departure from his first appointment at a fashion house in 2000, Slimane began a residency at the Kunst-Werke Institute for Contemporary Art in Berlin and published his first book of photographs. Throughout his many high-profile and highly profitable appointments within the fashion industry, photography has remained a constant focus for Slimane.

Naturally his talent as a photography and his talents at clothing designers would bleed into one and another, (and with the power appointed to him by his role as creative director) and so Slimane began shooting his own fashion campaigns, first at Saint Laurent and then at Celine. Before Slimane’s first runway debut for Celine’ Spring/Summer 2019 collection, he began “teasing” the world with his vision for the house by posting his photographs to the brand’s Instagram account. Fashion critic Robin Givhan noted that the photographs were united in that they all featured “young, androgynous models staring into the camera and looking vaguely dissolute.” This choice of subject is something that crosses over between Slimane’s fashion work (both photography and design) and his personal photographs.

Slimane’s photographs that were used as advertisements for Celine (figures 1-3) show a range in his fashion design abilities, but a rather singular, if not limited vision as a photographer. All the photographs were presented through Instagram with the Celine-branded format. The portrait of Liv is one of the teaser shots and shows a thin female form wearing an extravagant couture dress. What makes it Slimane is the messy unkempt hair and skeletal frame. Having Liv’s back positioned towards the camera adds an aura an anonymity—this could be any woman, hopefully a client. Within this series of ads is a similar photograph, but here the work is a color photograph and of a male model with long blonde hair modeling a leopard-print jacket. The texture of long shaggy hair is almost surfer life, and beautifully contrasts with the pattern of the jacket. Slimane does not often use color in his work, but it may have been a pressure brought about by the demands of social media (color photos tend to be more popular) and the business side of Celine who may feel that a color image better shows a range in offerings from Slimane’s collection. Fashion photographer is a tricky art to master as there are other considerations beyond the story and the aesthetic needs of the image; the clothes must look desirable. The concept of fashion photography is nothing new to Slimane, who has shot stories for Elle, V Magazine, and Vogue Russia. He told The New York Times, “Occasionally, I would shoot fashion photography, but it is a photographic repertoire of its own, and about a certain romanticism, precisely composed, with a production, groomers, stylist, etc.”

One of the ads, by default considered a fashion photograph, is a still-life shot of disco balls in Berlin taken by Slimane. Without product visible in the shot, the suggestion is that music and night clubs are an essential part of the Slimane’s vision for the brand.  The music scene has been a relentless reference for Slimane, along with the subcultures of skating and surfing which he started shooting in 2007 when he moved to California from Paris. While at Saint Laurent Slimane photographed a series of rock icons such as Courtney Love, Marilyn Manson, and Joni Mitchell in an ongoing campaign. The obsession with these subcultures is best documented on Slimane’s website, hedislimane.com/diary. This ongoing photo project was launched in 2006 and is full of thousands of images of his life in Los Angeles and around the world. They are all in black and white with high contrast and strong grain. Most images do not feel stage, but instead assume the atmosphere of a photographer on commission to capture a secret youth society that you will never be invited to join. Prevalent in this body of work is Slimane’s obsession with young, thin, blonde men. This is evident in three photos from a series published on his website in the fall 2017 (figures 3-6). Two photographs are live action shots of skateboarders in action. The long messy blonde hair mirrors the style seen in his later Celine ads; from a Californian skate park to a high fashion house in Paris. The shots are irreverent and also extremely beautiful. The black and white adds a sense of balance and serenity to the chaotic scene taking place. Though Slimane has stated he likes to keep his photographic work under his name to protect his creative boundaries, there are clear trends between his life in Los Angeles and his fashion collections. His photographs provide the key to this. Though the handsome young man in figure 4 is a part of the Californian skate subculture, his likeness in Slimane's photograph stamps him with a fashionable, even sexualized gaze. His skinny frame, boy-like features, and undefined age suggest a creepy aspect to Slimane’s work. Slimane's fascination with a certain type of youth (white, thin, rebellious) penetrates his personal and professional fashion photographs. The only difference is really the background and the context. Slimane told the Business of Fashion that he is trying to recapture parts of his youth through his photographs, saying, “I always looked at my own youth with a distance. I was not really part of the action, and watched all my friends around me through a lens, the observation of the fields of possible emerging talents and restless behaviors.”[8] His photographs, whether they be his fashion photographs or his personal diary, display a singular style of the highest technical quality. Together they form a unique vocabulary, making mundane sub-cultures and grungy rock shows feel glamorous, and injecting a sense of rebellion and youth into high fashion.

The young kids that populate his photographs and inspire his fashion collections, be them models, rock stars, or skaters, surrender their devil-may-care sense of cool to Slimane. Slimane is not cool himself, per se. But his photographs are, and so are his collections. Of course, the lives of those skater kids are not particularly enviable. They only become so after they are glamorized, really aestheticized by Slimane’s lens. This is why Slimane is not—contrary to his own beliefs—a reportage photographer.  Furthermore, participating in the fashion system only makes one a cog in a larger capitalist machine. Buying a Celine leopard-print jacket will not transform one into a cool long-haired skater, the kind of man Slimane fetishizes in his photographs. But perhaps that is the very brilliance of Hedi Slimane; he makes things appear more desirable than they actually are. His consumers are on some level conscious that his photographs fuel the desirability of his clothing collections. And yet they buy them anyway. The subjects of Slimane’s diary photographs will never be able to purchase the clothing he designs, and yet they pose for him. Each camp markets in what the other will never have. Slimane acts as the middle man. Through his photographs and collections, he has mastered and commodified the one thing that is certain to fade: youth.

[wearejapanese]

By Mika Doyle

Americans just can’t seem to get enough of Japanese organizational guru Marie Kondo’s new Netflix series Tidying Up with Marie Kondo, which premiered on Jan. 1 on the streaming service. I have to admit I’d only just heard about Kondo and her KonMari Method of organizing last year, so I tuned in to see what the hype was all about. As the daughter of a Japanese mom and an American dad, I hit play with a lot of skepticism because whenever something "Japanese" starts trending in America, I usually find that that thing — whether it's Memoirs of a Geisha or the white-washing of Ghost in the Shell — ends up being full of Asian stereotypes, misinformation, and cultural appropriation. But when I watched Tidying Up, I actually got to see a representation of a Japanese woman that made me feel like I was sitting at the kitchen table making gyoza with my mom.

Now, let me just say right up front that Kondo and my mom are nothing alike, apart from the fact that they're both Japanese — obviously, just because they’re both Japanese women doesn’t mean they’re the same. My mom was born in Osaka, while Kondo was born in Tokyo, a distinction that is super important to Japanese people. There’s a pretty big cultural difference between Osaka and Tokyo, kind of like how there’s a cultural difference between the American West Coast and the American East Coast. I saw this immediately when watching Tidying Up. Throughout the show, Kondo was quiet, kind, and reserved, though she has moments where she brings a kind of playfulness and joy to her work. My mom is also really quiet when she's around people she doesn't know, and she's the kindest person I know.

But with family, my mom is a true Osaka native. She's loud, hilarious, and has always appreciated my sarcastic, biting sense of humor. After watching just one episode of Tidying Up, my mom turned to me and commented, "Wow, [Kondo] is very Japanese." That's not to say Kondo might not be a very different in the privacy of her own home, but this is the Kondo my mom and I saw when watching her show.

But there were times when watching Kondo on Tidying Up hit me on a deeply personal level. In the first episode, Kondo introduces the idea thanking each item before discarding it, as well as greeting the house and thanking it for protecting the family, principles which are spelled out in her 2014 book, The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up. My mom has always believed in gratitude, whether it’s for family, for the items in our lives, for the roof over our heads, or for the events that have happened in our lives. She and my dad moved out of my childhood home last year, and on their last day in that home, she went from room to room and thanked the house for providing for our family for more than 20 years.

Like Kondo, my mom has always believed in treating the items in our homes with respect, but particularly any of the items I’ve gotten in Japan, like my kokeshi dollsor my ichimatsu doll. I can be bad about taking proper care of my things, so Mom reminded me recently to get the dust off them and show them love and respect. It's an act that resonates so much with Kondo's style: “The things that are around you, inside your home […] are there to support you, and this really gives you that sense of inner peace, and […] even though […] the world is quite chaotic, having that sense of inner peace really helps you,” Kondo told Bustle in an interview last year.

There’s also Kondo’s use of little boxes to organize things, which seems so revolutionary to American people — a fact she points out in Life-Changing Magic —but is actually quite commonplace in Japan. My mom told me Japanese dollar stores sell small boxes and drawer separators to make organizing so much easier. But since she’s never been able to find those in the United States, she’s always saved shoe boxes and other small boxes to use inside drawers and bins. When I saw Kondo teaching Americans this method of organizing, I immediately picked up the phone and called my mom. I couldn’t believe something she’d been teaching me all my life was on a Netflix show.

But this isn’t a competition between Kondo and my mom about who organizes the best. This is about how I finally saw someone so similar to my mom on Netflix that I felt the urge to call her. And that’s such a big deal, because I have rarely ever seen my culture represented without stereotypes in a mainstream American production.

Before the 1960s, Japanese men in American films were typically portrayed as small people with black-framed glasses and big teeth, says Japan Today. Women, on the other hand, were typically portrayed as the “geisha” stereotype, or hyper-feminine, subservient, and eager to please men, according to Japan Today. Later, Japanese people were able to “diversify” into roles like samurais and ninjas, says Japan Today. Today, Asian actors are starting to get better roles (Crazy Rich Asians FTW, right?), but they’re still only representing one percent of the leading roles in Hollywood, according to Teen Vogue.

But in Kondo's Netflix special, Kondo is just herself. She's just a regular Japanese woman teaching other people how to tidy their houses. And unlike the many people who have spoken loudly or slowly to my mom for having a foreign accent — something so many people in America who speak multiple languages face — most of the people on the show speak to Kondo at a normal pace. I wish more people would show my mom the same kind of respect Kondo received on her show. After all, my mom is smart enough to speak not one, but two languages.

Most people are watching Kondo's show to get her super awesome tidying tips. Me? I'm getting those tips, too. But I'm also watching in the hopes that Kondo's show is a big step in normalizing Japanese culture to a country I've called home my entire life.

#Mika Doyle #Japanese American #Representation #Tidying Up #Marie Kondo #近藤 麻理恵 #Culture

[paraclete0407]

All the books I read in Korea, ‘Vita Nuova’ and ‘On Love.’  IDK why I became such a miniaturist later as well as pornographer.  I literally realized today people love pornography, love isn’t too weak a word.  It’s dear to them.  It really warms some people’s hearts.  I remember reading in a magazine from NY I don’t look at anymore how old men love it so much.

Sexual frankness was en vogue for a long time when I was a kid in the Bill Clinton era and everyone found it funny till they realized Clinton, Epstein, Dershowitz and pedophilia isn’t really funny.  Later K-wave put a different spin on it since it’s so raw as if to say ‘I’m above this all and can say anything’ but it’s still violent and it trample’s people’s valid dignities and decorum.  

I literally spent so long hung up on Houellebecq and regressed; ‘Elementary Particles’ is visionary if flawed but some part of me decided it was too sweeping so I concentrated on ‘Whatever / Extension of the Struggle’ and the figure of the lonely stranger girl in the nightclub, exemplar of a ‘sacrificed generation.’  I wrote so much impertinent fiction fascinated with these sacrificed girls without ever grasping that they have better options than to become object-lessons in the callousness of society.  Timothy Keller’s ‘The Meaning of Marriage’ is revelatory as it reminds, the nightclub sexual liberation culture can be escaped not through Romantic individualism or self-esteem / -regard but remembering husband and wife are one flesh - it’s secure, invulnerable.  I always thought about running away.  

My family are mad at me and my dad still appears to want to know something about my inner life which I’m afraid is a lingering ghost or recapitulation of the now-decades-old Boomer-v-Millennial college culture thing where all these dads were like ‘drmdrmdrm free oral sex on campus?! - I hate my son let’s execute him and steal his co-ed friends.’  Chad Kultgen stuff but even more psychopathic, homicidal-suicidal.  I didn’t even do that; I just heard about it in the magazine from NY I don’t read anymore because its whole message was, ‘I’m going to go on observing myself abusing myself and consuming myself and analyzing my consumption of experience forever as if nothing will ever change.’  People who never did the math on the pandemic and ‘water.’

I truly feel as if right now Saint Augustine of Hippo is watching over the whole world which, John Piper reminds us, was ‘cursed in hope.’  What is at the bottom of the pandemic, the sudden questioning of freedom, the openness to communism and totalitarianism, the ambivalence regarding all private life and private ownership and proprietary supply-chains and chains-of-care (such as ‘my child you leave him or her alone’ it does not take a village), if not the rediscovery of Original Sin, the tragic cursedness of sexuality or ‘woundedness’ of sexuality, that it was supposed to be great but it led to all this dejection and grief and actual permanent loss.

I remember many pieces of piano-music which I hoped to learn but in a way the most personal piece to me is Beethoven’s opus 109 / Sonata 31 final movement, ‘Gesangvoll mitt Innigster Empfindung.’  To me this is the ultimate statement on a couple’s tearing each other apart and ending where they began with the same beautiful yet vain regret.  How many times do you have to punctuate the same sentiment?  Just walk away; toward the new day.

‘After that I moved out of there.’  I really did give up on the details of man-woman love-relationships after 2011; I decided I would get a wife-in-a-box or just be single forever.  There was a Korean girl I liked in 2010 who made me change my mind about Shanghai-Beijing-and/or-Harbin v. Seoul and I was friends with her friend too but said something really terrible that in retrospect prefigured my teaching-career’s failure as well.  ‘She is a complicated woman 23.5 years of history.’  ‘I can simplify her.’  

I was like some communist social engineer.  I really flattened out my own character into an .XLS of sorts and believed I could do the same for others.  Years later I regarded how Lee Sooman had studied robotics in America, became hung up on more non-religious non-Christian ‘special electric sauce’ books like Scott Fitzgerald’s ‘The Love of the Last Tycoon.’  

I feel as if all of this is in some distant way, ‘mental North Koreanness.’  ‘Love is broken, people are fools, Dad hit Mom, Dad is a man-child, cannot face himself, doesn’t know his own intentions or motives, obsessed with being understood sans understanding, Mom was bricked in the head, the priest molested my sister, Ki Hyungdo, I will eliminate freedom with a colossal everlasting permeating Monolithic Ideology and give everyone precisely what is right for them.’

IDK whether I ought to say this but ‘Last Tycoon’ crystallizes and incipits(?) at Palm Springs International Airport which is a place where something happened to me.  But North Koreanness appears almost totally Faustian, samurai-like in the worst sense.  

IDK if I should say but someone I respect and admire and esteem immensely is the CEO of NKNews who supports food-sanctions (that at other times I think is a form of US state terrorism as well as diametrically anti-biblical) and I could almost understand in one way why America would choose to feed Soviets in the past but starve North Koreans b/c something truly went horribly wrong.  During my last (intellectually) intimate love-relationship we touched on the Pyongyang Revival & why did all of that get blown away?  It’s truly a testament to the power of Satan and the fragility of human purity and innocence.  

There’s a novel someone else I really love was translating for free about ‘pleasure squads’ and these women being daughters of someone and I took this scholar to task for his ‘Japaneseness,’ his oneiricity, his vagueness, begging the question when he could actually answer with guns blazing.  I get mad at Hwang Sokyong and want BR Myers to stomp Bruce Cumings for being a hippie as well as for constantly trying to correct American East Asia Studies when soon enough Western EAS won’t really matter because Asians are no longer yoked to traditional blinkered methods of scholarship or historiography.  Like just give up, Asians are figuring themselves out and Western EAS is also highly mercenary and in many cases naively enamored of Confucianism, Maoism, platonistic messianic communism.  Every scholar’s convinced he knows ‘the one thing other Westerners don’t know about China’ but a lot of it again comes down - I realize - to the same quality which makes me a mental North Korean; namely men being hung up on the little points that made them money, special, competitively edged.

Maybe it’s neither here or there.  I’m time-traveling.  The best book I saw recently before my life fell apart was ‘I Am Kim Jieun’ whose specificity astonished me.  It was a mystic experience to look at, searing, black and white; I felt something similar when translating Ku Sang.  I realize however that this ‘absolute specificity’ itself became an idol, to me - heart-idol, soul-idol - that exacerbated my intellectual belligerence and rendered me even more severely mentally North Korean than ever before.  ‘David Johnston Global Offensive.’

Everyone I care about in any case seems to be dreaming of Saint Augustine of Hippo, this man who wanted his little wife, his happy students, caring Mom, silly but avoided Dad, son Adeodatus (’God-given’), but ended up rebelling against liberal education and realizing that infants are evil and depraved in many ways.  Christianity today hesitating between a new engagement, a farewell to ‘cultural Christianity’ and ‘Christian nationalism,’ the question of freedom of religion or, as John MacArthur points out, acknowledging that religion and freedom are incompatible in the in the American secular understanding of the word ‘freedom.’  Freedom to die, freedom of death, perhaps a hundred million or more abortions.  But was St. Augustine a quietist who turned his back on the world?  Did he say go home?  He was advising the Roman general Beliarius and provided an immortal pastoral reflection on traumatic sociohistorical upheaval in ‘City of God.’

I still feel wrapped up and flattened out.  Today I remembered ‘The Teacher of Creative Writing’ which was my too-late apology to a former student for whom I wrote a good-but-not-great essay-letter and game good but not the best advice.  I wanted to tell her Cambridge UK has fewer anti-Korean rapists than Harvard but I wish that I had simply talked about God.  She turned up on FB a while back doing all these ‘luminous ampoule face-gel’ bed-pictures which Russian men commenting and stuff(?!).  ‘Tis part of why I turned my back on institutional Christianity - to my very abiding regret - and started thinking in ‘Baudelarian’ terms again with songs like f(x)’s ‘Butterfly.’  ‘I want to get inside your twisted logic / white-faced mysterious you.’

I sigh.  Thank God today kids maybe can get the specific wisdom they need from devices or something instead of wanting to believe in someone like me who as more of a image of a leader-teacher-priest than the real thing.  I really am in more trouble than these kids who simply allowed themselves to be vulnerable, I feel.  No less had I been more pertinacious and decisive and staid I might have had that room full of books in Itaewon with the spiral staircase instead of being so far away in a place where no one’s really interested or apt.  Another matter of which I have been tragically slow to take cognizance is the inferiority of creativity and conceptualization to redemption and Resurrection.  Today I guess AI can create almost anything but I keep trying to crack ‘Hope in Times of Fear’ and truly hold fast to the knowledge that I can weather what’s coming and give up whatever I will need to give up if I remember that I don’t have to keep inventing and scheming and imagining and surprising everyone.  I keep hearing the word ‘Sadducee’ in my head.  The methods of Christianity are available to all and everyone is talking about Thomas Jefferson doing vaccine-experiments and a guy whose slave’s name was ‘Onesimus’ though the NPR reporter didn’t know about St Paul and his spiritual family; but the lynchpin of Christianity is still the Resurrection and Yeonmi Park may have a point about America becoming mentally North Korean if the methods of Christianity are catholically and rigorously implemented without conviction in the mystery and miracle of Christ’s being ‘first born of the dead.’

I’m 100% certain at this point there are people who want to murder me but Yeonmi Park has a very big point to make and I’m concerned for her as well as her way of conveying the message. So many people think she’s a huge harlot and Kim Jong Il is a sympathetic anti-hero; they hate her for having a few million dollars.  My dad’s furious at John MacArthur for having a net-worth of like 15 million dollars and a nice watch; Bill Gates still has like 70 billion or something and is bragging about saving lives while 100 million kids are backsliding into poverty, starvation, possible trafficking due to   I used to be this way as well, always having good ideas then worsening them deliberately.  I remember reading on Wikipedia how love-shyness destroys careers; of all the things to be ashamed of, true love, holy love, an augury of Eternity and immortality, recognition of the Imago Dei (Image of God) in the other.  ‘Why hold your beloved friends and family fast when you can talk about spaceships to Venus?’

Covid and the people on the street 100% love Bill Gates.  Everyone’s afraid of Christianity; they’re love-shy; they’ll always take the second-best thing.. 

The world is really mentally ill and I wish I were living on an airplane writing speeches for JD Vance 20hrs a day but JD Vance is a brand too dueling people about Tucker Carlson and I can’t message him on Twitter (’100 million kids? - that’s something but first establish yourself and pay your dues in the profession by writing a 1,000 page dissertation about Tucker Carlson’).  I’m about 1.5 years too old to join the SJ (Society of Jesus / Jesuits) by my last investigation.  I just wish I had given my best over the last year and a half instead of ‘tracking’ matters for so long and gathering so much evidence without replying or responding.  

[jfsindel]

Gift Shop at the Gift of Life and Joy Pregnancy Center (Original)

(It’s been some time since I wrote some horror. I don’t just write trash, I can write you good too).

Ring!

“Thank you for purchasing one of God’s greatest gifts. Have a nice day!”

Busy day. I must have said it a dozen times already. But it was the end of the month and after Mother’s Day, so the season was picking up. I would say it a dozen more times before I could punch out and go home.

The register slammed shut. My customer was shuffling his receipts and papers, blowing out a heavy cough. He was a regular; I recognized him from a few months prior. Big spender at this gift shop.

“Pull around back?” He questioned. I nodded; he knew the rules. Why this guy was still confirming started becoming a sign of his resilient paranoia.

“Yes. Please remain in your car, and we’ll bring it out to you. Car make, model, and color?” I said, pulling out my microphone.

“2020 Ford Ranger, white.”

“Right away, sir. Thanks for shopping at Gift of Life and Joy. We hope to see you soon.” My hand waved him goodbye before pressing the intercom button. “John, we have a pickup out back.”

After a few minutes, the man disappeared out the back door and I still had a line of customers. Mostly men, but there were some women. I knew a few of them to be ringers—shoppers for wealthy clients who wanted to be discreet. Women were less likely to attract attention at a place like this.

“Next, please.” I gestured to the new customer. “Have you made your selection?”

“Yes... I was interested in your upcoming gift catalogue…” He teetered off, thumbing out one of Gift of Life and Joy’s book index. “Authentic Hispanic gifts? Now be real with me. This isn’t trash you fished out a dumpster, right? They don’t last long.”

“No, sir.” Why did they always question the selection? Dumpster gifts hadn’t been in vogue since the new laws passed. “It’s expected to be due in two weeks. You can place the order and wait for delivery.”

“Okay, but I want a girl. It says girl. So I’m getting a girl, right?”

“No. It says expected to be a girl. While our information is good, there’s always a chance that it can change. Still 50/50.”

Customers hated hearing that. It always bothered them. If it was up to them, they could customize their gifts down to the eyelids. Wanting more, never satisfied. With the money they burned, it was no wonder they became repeat customers.

“If it’s a boy, can I get my money back?” Now the hard negotiation. These people always thought they were more shrewd than a stingy miser. Bargains were against our policy, and for good reason. Plus, they knew they couldn’t go anywhere else.

“That’s the chance you take on future gifts, sir. No refunds, no discounts. You can mull it over or choose one of our current selections.”

“I have no use for a boy. If it’s a boy, I don’t want it and I don’t want to spend that much money.” This guy was insistent now. “Can I trade?”

“No. You buy, you own. Gift store policy. I can assure you, our information is right ninety-seven percent of the time. If the gift is about to be delivered in two weeks, we’re extremely sure of the information. We’re always up to date and adjust accordingly.” I said, twisting the microphone towards me.

If he continued to debate it, we’d have to get rid of him. Too much attention. Stressful enough to dodge the nosey, one-off reporters and activists who caught wind of the gift shop. Planned Parenthood wanted nothing more than for Gift of Life and Joy to shut down permanently, but still wept in their hands every time we opened the doors.

However, his posture dropped into a relented state, fishing out his stack of cash. I could hear scarce mutters of three percent being too much to pay for, but we both knew he wasn’t getting what he wanted otherwise.

“Fine. Can I get a pin too? Like yours?” He pointed to one of the larger button pins on my apron. I looked down and saw the bright pink lettering glaring back at me.

“Sure. You want the ‘Abortion Robs The Cradle’ or ‘Love Life, Choose Life’?”

“The latter. The other one is too heavy-handed.”

Ring!

“Thank you for purchasing one of God’s greatest gifts. Have a nice day!”

I closed the register and twisted the microphone towards me to call in the future order. However, a loud commotion was brewing from the back of the line and pummeling straight towards the front. My hand released the device as a harried teenage girl threw herself at my counter.

This was going to be rough. Regretful mothers always were.

“You!” A shrill, deep and wounded. “Where’s my baby!? What did you monsters do with my baby!? You told me you were going to take care of her! You told me you were going to give her a better life!”

So close to closing and having to deal with this. I placed my hand back over the microphone, plastering on my best customer service smile.

“Ma’am. You’re in the wrong part of the pregnancy center.” I made sure to soak every tone with compassionate pity, dousing her with enough to force doubt. “You should be in the counseling area.”

“Where’s Angelica!? Where’s my baby?! Who did you give my baby to!? Tell me!” Her hands reached out, grabbing my apron as if to pull me over the counter. “I want my baby! I want my baby! Give me my baby back!”

Postpartum depression might have been a culprit here. This girl was sitting at home, feeling guilty that she got away with all of it. Being allowed to walk away and not carrying the abortion black mark on her head. Couldn’t be happy with moving on; had to have it all. Wanted the attention of a baby, but not a mother. To not sin against God, but have her youth to sin.

All the same. Selfish to look unselfish.

“Ma’am. Your baby is not here if you went through our adoption program.” My hand tried to wrench away her grip. “Go back to the front and speak to a counselor. This is a gift shop.”

“You’re lying. You sold her. You sold her to God-knows-who! You sold her to monsters!”

I eyed the now uncomfortable customers, seeing some of the newer ones bolt like deer. Outbursts like these were why our tucked away gift shop was in the back. Seller and buyer regret were a real inconvenience to the business model.

“Ma’am, I’ll call the police.” I threatened, working up the consequences. “I’m sorry you think I have your baby. You had her and you gave her up. I had nothing to do with that—”

“You call yourselves pro-life! You say you care! But you’re selling my baby!” Frantic cries of a deranged, broken woman. “You told me to have Angelica at the abortion clinic! You said Angelica was a gift from God! Then you take me here and you tell me to give her up! You promise to take care of her!”

Honestly, I did not know which one she was talking about. I never got names. Customers didn’t like real names for gifts. They enjoyed calling them whatever they wanted, however crass or disgusting it was.

All I did was work the gift shop register at the Gift of Life and Joy’s Pregnancy Center. Whoever met her at the abortion clinic across town should deal with this, not me.

Three men came from the back, strong-arming the teenager away. I fixed my apron and readjusted my employee pins, taking a moment to move on from it. It was almost closing time, and I had plenty of customers to get through.

Luckily, business gets back to normal fast. It’s not like anyone cared about her baby or any other kid in this place.

“Next.”

#original fiction #creepypasta #jfsindel #horror #writing #prolifeisbullshit #triggering stuff

[okimargarvez]

WAITING FOR YOU

Original title: Giudizio in sospeso.

Prompt: waiting, friendship, jealousy, misunderstandings.

Warning: none.

Genre: romantic, angst, friendship.

Characters: Penelope Garcia, Luke Alvez, Lisa Douglas, Sam, Phil.

Pairing: Garvez, Penelope x Sam, Luke x Lisa, Lisa x Phil.

Note: oneshot 22 in Garvez collection.

Legend: 💑💏😘💍.

Song mentioned: E fuori è buio, Tiziano Ferro.

Note: With this story, I apologize to Lisa for having hated her, just because she dating with Luke. It would be much easier to hate her, but I tried another street.

MY OTHER GARVEZ STORIES

WAITING FOR YOU

 -I can't do it. I'm not joking, I can't do it.- the woman brings a hand to her mouth. -I feel sick.- she feels her stomach mumble as if it were protesting too. A female hand is resting on her shoulder. She immediately takes it with hers.

-Of course, you can do it! It's normal that you feel like that. But remember that you aren't alone. And then, he loves you too much. Everything will be great, ok?- the woman dressed in white nods, but she isn't really convinced. And her friend knows it, but she also knows that nothing she'll do or say will succeed in the task of making change her mind. Only when she'll finds herself before the altar, next to the man she'll love for the rest of her life, perhaps, she'll yield and enjoy only the moment.

-Girls, how it's going? We are only waiting for the bride.- she exchanges a glance with the other, standing behind the future Mrs. Alvez. She nods and approaches. -Come on, Luke will not be able to resist for a long time. You know that if you don't move, he'll come in person and pick you up. You know he can!- all three burst out laughing, but one of them doesn't hide her nervousness.

-I already tried, JJ. She's a lost cause.-

 **

Two years before

The blonde woman carefully observes every type of tea present on the shelf. She tries to take stock mentally the tests, she already has, to decide what will be the chosen one, the next to enter and occupy a space in her sanctuary. -Penelope?- hearing called, she turns, pretty surprised. She doesn't recognize the voice and it's strange even to be called by name. As soon as she sees her, however, she understands who is. -You're Penelope Garcia, Luke's coworker, right?- caught. She can no longer pretend not to have noticed her.

-Yes. And you are Lisa.- how to forget that name? She hopes that externally Lisa doesn't see that she is trembling inside. -You love tea, too?- as usual, she came out with a stupid question. But in silence, when she's anxious, she just can't stay.

-No, but my best friend, yes and soon will be her birthday, so...- the brunette shrugs and approaches. Penelope had already sensed the first time she had met her, how beautiful she was, but so, dressed in simple casual clothes, the woman's beauty stands out even more. She looks like one of those that don't need tricks or other accessories, to shine. Unlike her. -I see you're an expert, would you give me some advice?- she nods even if she would like to get out of this place as soon as possible.

-What is your friend's tests? Because it has just come out a new infusion, experimental, but it depends on whether it is one that appreciates strong tastes, or not... - she raises the box and shows it to her. Lisa watches it carefully, reads the ingredients and then she smiles, approving the blonde's suggestion.

-It seems perfect!- even his smile is sincere and spontaneous. -Thank you, Penelope...can I call you Penelope?- she stops, looking uncertain. -Luke told me that the whole team calls you Garcia, but I'm not from the team and I always thought it was weird to call people by their last name...- Penelope tries not to jump when she hears that name, but she has to get on with it though. Now he and Lisa are a couple (probably, he didn't say anything at work). But she chuckles when the other woman starts a rant, very similar to hers. It's impossible not to find her nice, that's why Alvez is so taken by her.

-I really didn't do anything... and yes, of course you can call me Penelope. In reality, in the team we call each other by our last names... a stupid way to pretend to keep the distance, when in reality we are a family. But he'll have told you this... Luke, I mean.- damn it, she said that name, this time.

They start heading to the checkouts and Penelope insists on paying everything, so they'll load more points on her loyalty card and they get a discount; just outside, she'll can give her her part, if she really insists. Even Lisa is positively impressed by the blonde, who this time wearing a dress much soberer and less colorful, although she doesn't have a physical to appear on the covers of Vogue, stands out for her so overwhelming personality. It's impossible not to feel good in her company. This explains why so many times Luke mentions her name when they talk about a newly solved case.

-In fact...- she starts talking as they walk each one with their own bag in hand. -Luke doesn't tell me anything. It's also a bit unnerving...- the blonde curses this turn of conversation. She absolutely doesn't want to talk about him, she doesn't think she's able to pretend that she feels nothing for him, without making a fool of herself, to say nonsense, to make her understand that, heck, he's not just a colleague. But then she looks up and meets the big ones so strangely insecure of the brunette. With that aspect, no one would imagine that she could feel uncertainty. She seems one of those who have a host of men behind drooling for her, one in high school was the most desired, one that plays the part of the bad and ignorant in the TV series. Instead, she knows very well that Lisa graduated in medicine, very active on the social front. In short, perfect.

-Well... Luke- dammit, she called him again by name. -...it's like that even at work. Always withdrawn. He's a reserved guy.- she tries to reassure her. -You just have to give him some time and you'll see that he'll open by himself.- Lisa nods, then they arrive in front of a car in much better conditions than Penelope's.

There is a moment of silence and embarrassment. -Penelope... by chance, you maybe want to get to go grab some coffee?- she looks at the strange expression of the blonde. -Or a tea.- both laugh at her proposal. -I would like to know better someone who is part of Luke's life... I often feel like a stranger...- this sudden fragility upsets the computer technician even more.

-Sure, willingly.- she finds herself answering. -But I'm not the most suitable person to talk to... it would probably be better if you talk to Matt, JJ or Rossi...- she mocks. -The only subject I'm prepared for, is Roxy.- Penelope's eyes light up as she says the dog's name.

-Really? Yet when he tells me of the cases the colleague who mentions most is you. And from how I saw you two interact when you interrupted our... first date...- the blonde blushes and she's about to apologize, but Lisa makes her understand that there is no need. -...I thought you were great friends.- Penelope sighs as they enter a bar, order and sit at a table, one of the few free. How will she get out of this mess?

-Great friends? No!- too much emphasis. -Well, he's part of the family, yes, we're friends... but I gave him so much trouble, when he arrived. The fact is... that the one of which he had taken the place, Morgan... he was my best friend. And when he left... I was a bit out of my mind... more than usual, if you can believe it!- they both burst out laughing again. Then Penelope, almost seeing herself from the outside, makes a gesture that she hadn't programmed. She puts her hand on the darker one of the other woman. -But even in my state, I couldn't help but realize how he was a good person. He's a great guy, Lisa, I'm sure you'll be happy together. You're lucky.- she couldn't pretend more and even Lisa seems to understand it. -In addition, he has that adorable ball of fur next to him.- again Roxy it seems like the best way out.

-Yes, Roxy is really sweet. I would spend hours to caress her. All the stress accumulated during work seems to slip away as if by magic.- Penelope nods, feeling a tiny twinge in her stomach, or perhaps her heart. Yes, part of her had hoped to find out she'd managed to win Roxy as much as she did. A stupid and selfish thing. The brunette seems to notice the veil of sadness appeared in the eyes of the other, but probably she believes that it's due to the reference to work. After all, they both see ugly and sad things. -You said that Luke wasn't your type, when we met.- it's just a way to change the subject and lighten the atmosphere, but the blonde feels anxiety grow. -So, what's your ideal type? I'm just curious.- Penelope's mind is completely foggy, she tries to think of something sensible, but nothing comes. It's a situation she's not used to.

Then she pulls out her cell phone and looking for a photograph of Sam, her last boyfriend, and shows it to her. -This is Sam. He taught me how to play the ukulele and the clarinet.- thinking back to the episode in the elevator, when Luke had thought wrong about hearing her saying "fingering techniques", she smiles. -He's a vet, he loves animals. In fact, it's for that reason that I fell in love with him.- she scroll through the photos until she find the one of a black cat. -This is Sergio. He's my real life partner for a few years.- she caresses the picture with her thumb, then the screen turns to black.

-Wow, he is beautiful! And Sam sounds nice either...- she gives her a wink. Lisa's voice is mischievous. Then the face of the brunette lights up suddenly. -What if we all went out together one night?- Penelope knows she should answer negatively. First of all, she and Sam are no longer together, although it seems that Lisa didn't understand it. Secondly... spending hours watching Luke flirt with another woman are too much for her heart too. Finally, it'll surely be terribly embarrassing.

And despite all these thoughts, what she does is accept.

 -Hello.- she approaches the man, she puts her hands on his shoulders and gives him a gentle kiss. She sees him smile as she squints her eyes. -How was your day? You put a few criminals behind bars?- he wraps his arms around her waist, enjoying her scent.

-Someone.- but he doesn't want to think about the case they have faced. They managed to save only the last child and he'll never forget the eyes of the less fortunate parents. -And you, Dr. Douglas? Did you saved some lives?- he imitates the non-serious tone of her, who moves away with a playful push and puts a hand on her side, putting herself in a seductive position.

-Yes obviously! But I wanted to talk to you about something else...- Luke feels the danger in the air. -You know that I should have bought that tea for Marika, that soon is her birthday, right?- he nods. -I went to that place that Phil advised me. And... you'll never guess who I met.- her lips are folded into a smug smile. -You're never going to know who is. Not even with your profiler skills.- he really wants to show her that she's wrong.

-Are you sure?- he asks, approaching until she finishes with her legs against the couch and he forces her to sit almost, looking down on her, from a dominant position. -First: judging from the way you talk and from that cheeky smile, it's someone I know- Lisa snorts and he realizes he's right. -Second: too much enthusiasm. If it were your ex you would have presented this differently, trying to make me jealous. You're that kind of woman.- she opens her mouth wide, pretending to be indignant. -You know what I meant, Lisa, don't play the stupid. You're not at all.- he immediately regained points. -So, it's a woman. That I know. One of my colleagues.- she watches him sit next to her on the sofa, immediately joined by Roxy and caresses the dog to vent her frustration.

-How did you do? I practically didn't say anything!- the man puts his arm around her shoulders.

-I'm a profiler, baby. I can't help but read in people's behavior. And then I still haven't said the name. I could be wrong.- he smiles as she approaches to kiss him again. -Do you want to know my hypothesis?- he whispers softly, his lips wet from hers. She nods. Luke sighs and suddenly seems to no longer want to joke. -Garcia.- he says, only. -JJ hates tea, never drinks it. Prentiss it's more the coffee type, black coffee, with very little sugar. And Tara... no, she's not the type either. Garcia, on the other hand, she is madly in love with tea, before any case she drinks at least one cup and my nose is clogged with all those strange aromas. I don't even want to know what some contain.- Lisa shakes her head, still annoyed at having lost. She's a tough girl and probably he likes her for that. -Come on, I was joking! She is my only colleague you met. She was the only one you could meet.- something doesn't convince her, but she decides to surrender. She has an important thing to say to him.

-Anyway- and the look that he launches at him is a clarification that this story isn't over. -I met Penelope - it is strange to hear her mention the name of the blonde informatics -and we talked a bit. She's really a wonderful person, now I understand why you mention her so often. I couldn't understand before, that thing about her jokes or why she dress like that, but now I know.- while her girlfriend describes Garcia, the man nods and when she points out how much he talks about the last, he blushes, but Lisa doesn't notice it.

-Yes, Garcia is... Garcia.- he couldn't say more. He feels a lump in his throat and realizes that if that node melts, then he couldn't stop the flow of words and thoughts. Better to continue to deny. Sooner or later everything will vanish.

-Yes, and we got along so good that... I asked her if she wanted to do a four-way.- she immediately understands that Luke has misunderstood. -But not in that sense, maniac!- she hits him with a weak fist on the arm, but bursts out laughing in turn. Not even in this case she notices the tension that has completely gripped the man's body. -I suggested her to go out together one evening, you, me, she and Sam.- his shoulders stiffen even further, hearing that name for the first time. And now, who the hell is this Sam? Because, of course, the thought that Garcia could find a man like him had found Lisa didn't even pass through the antechamber of his brain. It was much more comforting to believe that she would remain the support of the team forever. The woman notices his confusion. -Sam, Penelope's boyfriend. Don't tell me you've never talked about it.- he doesn't answer. -Anyway, she accepted.- Luke starts coughing as hard as he can and is forced to drink a whole glass of water before he calms down. -Are you okay, honey?- he feels Lisa's hand stroke his shoulder.

-Yes... Something just went down my throat.-

 The blonde woman hesitates for the umpteenth time before pressing the send button. In the end, she is forced to yield. The alternative is to let Lisa know the truth or blow up the appointment with an excuse. But, without understanding the reason, she doesn't want to disappoint her. Surely, she'll be part of the life of Luke, Agent Alvez, for a long time, so getting along is the best solution. She wouldn't be able to hate her even if she were an evil witch.

A minute later, while she is washing her only plate and Sergio's bowl, the phone starts ringing. She looks at the name on the display and the heart stops. She lets it ring a little longer, then she responds. -Sam?- she walks around the room as when she is particularly agitated.

-Penelope, what's going on? Something serious, I shouldn't be worried?- she shakes her head and then remembers he can't see her.

-No, no, nothing serious, just... if you had a moment, five minutes, I'd rather talk to you in person.- she expects the man to answer negatively, maybe to go her to hell. They break up more than a year ago and they are very little in touch, even if they got along just like friends. Theirs wasn't an overwhelming love story, but a rational and balanced relationship between two people who love each other.

-Ok, just give me ten minutes... you always live in the usual place?- it almost upsets her, to think about the usual place. Where she almost risked dying. She probably should have moved a long time ago.

-No, I send you the address.- while talking with the other hand she has already sent the necessary information to her ex. -Done. All right, I'll wait for you.-

 **

 He was no longer able to sleep, after she broke off the blockbuster they were watching to exclaim, super enthusiastic, that Penelope had get a green light from Sam. The double-date would have been done. Surely the best choice was to keep a low profile, pretend it's nothing and resign that now everything was decided. Luke himself was aware of this, but when he sees the blonde woman, give him the back while preparing her usual weirdness, he just can't resist.

-Hey.- he greets her and she jumps for the scare. He comes up to join her, to fill a cup of coffee. She looks at him from the corner of her eye.

-Good morning.- but when their eyes meet, the woman immediately understands what he wants to talk to her. However, she decides to continue to interpret the part of the one that knows nothing.

-So... you and Lisa?- it seems that he too is embarrassed to deal with that subject. -I didn't think you'd ever say yes. Do you realize you'll have to endure my presence for a whole night?- Penelope rolls her eyes and snorts, then gives him a boost to push him away, feeling him too close. Luke feels a chill different from those he felt when Lisa had done the same action.

-I'm aware of it, Alvez . But is really hard to say no to your girlfriend. She was so enthusiastic that I was obliged to say yes. I did it just for her, that this is clear in your mind?- she puts a few tablespoons of sugar and then mixes, moving away from the stove and move on a table. It seems that the others haven't yet arrived, except for Emily who will surely already be in the office studying a new case. He follows the sinuous movement of her hips, hoping not to have too embarrassing expression printed on his face. So, he reaches her. -Joking aside, Lisa is really a nice person. She is nice and always smiles, her smile is contagious.- almost the same words used by the brunette to describe her. -She loves Roxy.- she looks at him seriously. -This is a fundamental thing.- he nods, just as serious and decisive. The moment is interrupted by a familiar sound for both. -There's a case.-

 **

 The man looks around, hands in his pockets. He sighs, and his breath creates a cloud of condensation. Watch the hour flashing in a building next to the restaurant where he hopes he can get in early. He's one of those chilly people who can get cold feet even in the summer. A counter-sense, since he is a male, but still the truth. Penelope's hands have always been warmer than his. It seems strange to think of her, but a smile is painted on his lips. Then he sees a very attractive brunette woman heading towards him. Surely there will be someone behind him, she can't want to talk to him. Instead she stops right in front of him.

-Sorry, I would not bother you, but, is not that, by chance, you are Sam, Penelope's boyfriend?- he likes how sounds that title. But he immediately understands that she is Lisa, the girlfriend of Penelope's colleague, as a result... he is ruined. He'll never succeed in holding the game, he doesn't know how much she said about them, they didn't have time to get their act together. He starts to cold sweat, but he is forced to nod.

-Yes, I'm. You must be Lisa, right? Nice to meet you.- he holds out his hand and notes that hers is delicate and almost as cold as his.

-Me too.- she smiles, becoming even more beautiful. But she still doesn't reach the Penelope levels. -Have you got any news of your girlfriend? Luke hasn't answered me for over an hour...- Sam shakes his head.

-No, Penelope hasn't even let me know anything. But it's normal, they will be concluding the case. Don't worry, trust me.- he smiles at her, trying to reassure her.

-I trust. Surely, you have experienced a situation like this many time more than me. You can say that you're almost a veteran!- the man nods, but the only thing he thinks is Where are you, Penelope? I will not last long without saying one of my stupid things.

 The blonde type quickly a text, but she is forced to stop. She takes off her glasses, closes her eyes and massages her temples. The man watches her movements in passing, not losing sight of the road. -I'm sorry, I wish I could drive slowly, but we are in tremendous delay.- he says, feeling the desire to touch her, at least her hand, to strengthen his words. Obviously, he doesn't do anything. -You need to stop? We can always warn them that all bets are off. Or your boyfriend is one of those who get angry for the slightest thing?- he ventures, repenting immediately.

-Who, Sam? No, let alone. He is the most patient person I know, he is used to our schedule. And I think Lisa would understand too. But I don't want to disappoint them. We have only one hour late. - the truth is that she wants to get rid of this problem as soon as possible. She can’t go on pretending to be engaged with Sam forever. He too has a life to carry on. This thing must be done tonight.

Luke can't understand why Garcia behaves that way, but basically if there's a person whose behavior he has never really read, apart from understanding that she didn't really hate him, it's her. -We have to go first to your house, do you need to change your dress?- stop at a red light, he tries not to stare her neckline.

-Why, Alvez, you don't think it looks nice?- she answers in a firm tone, turning towards him and giving him a few more inches of her skin. Her gaze is a challenge, but the man falters as he passes his eyes back and forth on the body of his partner.

-No...- he answers sincerely. -You're beautiful.- he exclaims sincerely. However, she doesn't give too much weight to the compliment.

-And, Sam always told me that he finds me beautiful with heels as with slippers and pajamas.- a pang of pure jealousy stabs the man who press a little too much on the accelerator, making her toss. And he isn't at all wrong, Luke thinks, trying to breathe normally and proceed at a more constant speed.

It's a strange thing to think that their partners are waiting for them, together and they are coming together. As if the pairs were reversed. For a second, he tries to put his arm around her waist, then shakes his head, a moment before parking. Lisa doesn't deserve this, not even being betrayed by thought. Penelope is just a chimera, a dream that will soon fade away. He opens the door for her, but she doesn't thank him and doesn't even wait for him. He has to hurry to reach her and first he takes another bit of that view. The movement of her hips is so sensual... No, Luke, come back to earth. You're about to meet her boyfriend.

-Baby, you finally arrived!- next to his girlfriend there is a tall man, quite present, not bad enough for his taste, not as much as he wanted. While those thoughts arise, he denies them. It is selfish behavior to wish that she doesn't have someone to make her happy. Garcia instead had only beautiful words for Lisa, but of course, she doesn't feel anything for him.

-Hey, you did it!- he tries to concentrate on the welcome kiss she is giving him, but he can't help but eavesdrop on the exchange of words between the other couple. Baby. It gives him so much trouble to hear a man call her that. Again, Luke. Stop that. As soon as he separates he sees the bright face of his colleague and the arm around her waist in very possessive way. He can, you not. You have Lisa, what else should you wish for? Focus on her. It's easier to think of it than to do it. The other approaches him, not letting her go and grasping his hand.

- I'm Sam, nice to meet you.- the lucky one is unaware of what he really thinks of him, but he gets a taste of this, by the way he returns the grip, a bit too strong.

-Luke.- his other hand in Lisa's. -We can get in? I'm starving.- he would have said any stupid thing to start this evening, so as to finish it as soon as possible. Lisa sits next to him and the other couple profiteer to them, i.e. Sam in front of his girlfriend and Garcia... in front of him. The nightmare has just begun.

When ordering, Penelope can't help but underline the fabulous gesture made by Sam, the choice to become a vegetarian, thanks to the immense love that he feels for her. He wants to throw up but pretends that's nothing and returns Lisa's sincere smile.

-So... you and Sam how long have you been together?- Luke pours the first of many glasses. It will be a tremendous evening. But he doesn't seem the only one uncomfortable. Even Garcia seems strange, her smiles appear forced or too exaggerated, even for her. She continues to make shrill giggles and touch her boyfriend's arm. The latter instead seems perfectly comfortable, like Lisa (of course, he has her next to him), in paradise. He can't help but realize he is a brilliant man. And surely this is the reason if Penelope loves him.

The thought is too strong and makes him jump, he stretches a bit too much his leg and ends up against the knee of Garcia, who notices but is limited to a strange look. Anyway, it's Sam who answers, like almost at all the questions. Practically the two federal agents are bystanders, they witness the conversation between their halves, intervening very rarely. -From 2014. It's almost four years, do you believe it, lovely?- he caress her on the cheek and takes her hand. Luke grinds his teeth, but no one notices.

-No, it doesn't seem possible to me.- she replies, blushing when he tries to feed her. The Latin Agent wants to be able to do the same with Lisa, but he just can't do it, he's not that kind of person and... he doesn't want to make things even worse by using her. She's perfect, Garcia has also said it, but the problem is... not for him.

And as he walks with Lisa, hand in hand, he understands that he can no longer continue like this. She deserves to know the truth.

 **

 The day hadn't started normally. As soon as he set foot in the BAU, he realized that there was something strange in the air. He had immediately recognized the two female voices and involuntarily, had begun to listen. Luke didn't believe that he could be in seventh heaven and underground at the same time, but apparently, he was wrong. -I feel like a worm, JJ, for how I treated it. But if I don't love him anymore, what can I do? I told him it didn't make sense to continue this farce and he... you should have seen his face. He took it so hard... I'm so sorry! If I could, I would force myself to love him, it would all be much simpler. But I can't deny what I feel or don't feel.- her friend tried to comfort her, told her it wasn't her fault, that she had done the right thing.

Sam and Penelope had broken up.

 Fortunately, the case wasn't particularly complex, and they didn't even have to use the jet. Penelope didn't miss a beat, her indications arrived at the right time and were always decisive. But he still noticed a slight difference. And after confronting Lisa and resolving that question peacefully, he understands that he must find the strength to settle this matter too. Plus, he needs to know if she's okay. She may have forgotten his words, but he didn't. He still wants to be the someone she wants to go to when she's crying.

He walks in the corridor to Garcia's room, but a sound he has heard before stops him. Sobs. She is crying. So, maybe, the story with Sam was really important to her. And surely, he isn't the best person to help her right now. Not with half heart that exults.

He decides to enter anyway, because he can't leave her alone to cry. But he is stopped again, this time by her weak voice, while she seems to talk to someone. But she is alone. The others have all gone home, it's sure.

-I have... I have to stop crying. It's useless. It went like this now. I should have told Lisa the truth, so I wouldn't have been forced to... - another series of excruciating sobs. He doesn't know what keeps him from running to her. In reality, he knows very well: to discover a truth that almost certainly she wouldn't be willing to tell him consciously. He raises his ears when he hears his ex-girlfriend mentioned. -Why I can't love Sam, God, why?- that's who is her interlocutor. -Everything would be so simple. He's such a good person. He loves animals. Theater and music. We get along so good... it's perfect. And so why? Why he doesn't make my legs shake? Why I don't feel that burning desire to see him, to be with him?- again to Luke it seems to be on the roller coaster. A moment he is in paradise and the one afterhell, because he understands that what makes him happy is the same thing that saddens Penelope. And he hates immensely himself for this.

-What I have always wanted is a man like those lives in comics, books, cinema. One willing to fight anything, just to have me. And I can't imagine Sam in that dress.- another round of wiping nose and sobs. -Why right him? Why I have to imagine myself... I don't even want to mention him. I must not. I must be strong. He chose another one, and she is a wonderful person. She's beautiful, but this isn't enough. She is also nice, sweet, playful. And Roxy has approved her.- he doesn't have time to realize that she is talking about Lisa, therefore about him, because his thoughts are overwhelmed by a lacerating noise. -It's over, I have to resign myself. All those looks, those jokes, the nicknames, the flirting... it was all for fun.- he would like to shout at her that it's not like that, but he understands that there was still something she had to say and that he must hear. -When I saw him, the first time, with her... I couldn't believe it. But it was absurd, that one like him was single. I wish I could hate her, but I know it wouldn't be right. I would like to have the strength or the courage to leave, to leave everything, to see if at least he notices me or if he doesn't care. Or at least I would like to be able to treat him in a cold, different way. Make him understand that the light went out in my eyes. And it will not turn back on again.- it's really the final sentence, because he hears a strange noise, like a beeps and then only sobs.

He no longer waits for anything else to stop him and opens the door. She is in the chair, glasses on the desk. In her hands she holds an anti-stress kitten. When she hears that someone has entered, she doesn't even raise her head. -Penelope.- she recognizes the voice and understands that, because he doesn't call her Garcia, he must have heard at least a part of what she said. But she can't even chase him away, ask him to leave or pretend not to be crying, like that time more than a year ago. She lets him approach, so he can observe with his own eyes how love for him has reduced her. -Penelope, please don't cry...- he whispers softly, but from the cracked tone he seems to be on the point of even pouring a certain amount of salty tears.

No, don't cry, I can't stand your tears, I will never... because if you're happy... every smile is gold, and in the distance, I forgive you and I implore you...

She feels his breath on her neck, sees the shadow of him on her. She allows him to turn the chair in his direction, to take her face in his hands, to look at her for a long time and even to embrace her. But she remains motionless, like a statue or a lifeless puppet, in the arms of the man she loves. She doesn't stop his caresses on her back or the sweet and comforting words, standard, which he tells her. But she doesn't stop crying either. -Please, Penelope, stop it. You're killing me!- now yes, she's sure, he's crying too. She feels the hot, salty tears, running down her back, who knows how they managed to cross the threshold of the sweater. Still, she doesn't expect what he is about to do. That, she would certainly not have allowed him. And I love you so much, that, for those sweet eyes I can only feel bad and taken those lips and then kiss you in the sun, because I know how bad the lack of a smile is, when we get distance, it disappears from your face and it's... scary...

Luke takes her face in his hands and lays his lips on those of the blonde, who for the shock holds both eyes open, but manages to pull away from him only after at least thirty seconds. Too many, for her tormented heart and her confused head. -Why on earth would you do that? I don't want the mercy of any man, especially if engaged!- she moves away, stands up and reaches the opposite side of the room.

Luke shakes his head and in a flash he is near her again. Penelope feels powerless. She doesn't know how to get rid of him. -I've just had a few dates, with Lisa.- he starts saying, with the aim of explaining that in any case he's again a free man. Like her. But she pushes him even more abruptly.

-This is not my business.- she exclaims, her tone so wounded and disappointed that he doesn't hold back.

-I think so...- he can only say, before laying once again the lips on those of his colleague. So soft, tasty. But it's not just this. The heart seems to fly. He feels soft legs and an extreme euphoria. The desire to cry, laugh, scream. It's a very light kiss, almost like if they were teenagers; on their lips, the salty taste of the tears that both have shed. Squinting his eyes, he realizes that those of her are wide open, again. Why she can't let go herself? Yet, she said she loves him. Not to him, but she said it.

-What were you thinking?- as soon as he lets her go, she talks up a blue streak. Anger in her eyes. -You are engaged with a woman and do this with another?- she shakes her head. -Then you're worse than I thought.- the discomfort that she feels is so great that for a moment paralyzes him. But then he understands that he can't allow her to start thinking wrong about him again. He can't lose such a precious stone that already has his name engraved inside. Not by negligence.

-Please, Penelope, believe me. There was nothing important between me and Lisa. Not that I didn't try, I'm honest. But the most significant event was a pool game. I love her, but we're wrong to each other.- she doesn't seem entirely convinced, but allows him to hold her hands, which is a good sign.

-You told Matt that she is beautiful...- he nods and steals her word.

- ...smart, funny...- he ends for her, making a mental note to talk to Matt to teach him to hold his tongue. -She is so. But with her, that spark has never been lit. She never made shake my legs...- he wonders if she recognizes who this quote comes from. He gets closer until she is forced to place both hands on his chest, to block him, before he can try again some risky gesture. -And she didn't replace you in Roxy's heart.- he hesitates, but he decides to say the other half, seeing how the face of Penelope illuminates at this declaration. - And not even in mine - but she just can't trust him, it's too early. The pain in her chest is still so strong, it can't disappear like magic. So, they are still embraced, only tight, this time to each other, even her arms wrapped around Luke's muscular body, she starts crying again and he strokes her back and that's it, no one talking.

Then, all of a sudden, she comes off and pushes him away again. -Yes... it's too late, Luke.- what he never wanted to hear. -I can't, I can't... I don't know, I can't do it.- she wipes the last tears with her hands and throws them away.

-But... I only went out with a woman!- he can't give up.

-I know, but... I don't know what I thought. Why I was deluded into being special, how could I have convinced myself that we would end up together, that it was only a matter of time, why I wanted to convince myself that it was our destiny.- she laughs. A bitter laugh. - I was so stupid, so immensely stupid!- it hurts him even more to hear her insulting herself. But the worst is yet to come. -I didn't think I would be able to suffer more than the death of my parents and the departure of Derek. But it happened.- she whispers the last sentence softly. Hoping he doesn't hear it. -Why I allowed myself to fall in love with you? Why?- he tries to kiss her again and for the umpteenth time she rejects him.

-Not, I've already told you! I don't want your alms, I don't want to pity you or that you have to do something for me... I'll be fine, ok? I'll be fine. I will not make you weigh, because I'll love you anyway, whatever you do, because you are now part of the family, because I can't do anything about it.- this declaration is really too heavy. If pure love exists, this is definitely a good example. Luke is overwhelmed by the immensity of the feeling that Penelope feels towards him. Probably nobody had loved him like that before, outside his parents. Maybe. -You should be with a person like Lisa. She's right for you, you both have been in the same places... she understand you perfectly.- he's just shaking his head. -She can help you...- the man doesn't find an alternative way to force her to keep quiet than pushing her against his chest, to welcome yet another fountain of tears.

-No, she's not suitable for me, she's not able to help me, it doesn't mean anything that we've been in such places.- he lifts her face, forcing her to look at him. -No one can understand me like you, Penelope. It's not pity, it's not compassion, I don't say this because I'm a good guy, but because it's the truth. Just watch you smile or see you or hear your voice while you talk about anything... makes my day better.- it's his turn of the kilometric declaration. -I'm in love with you and I would didn't have to be out with another woman, for understood this and finally found the courage to tell you this.- is the blonde, now, who moves her head in denial.

-I'm sorry too. Really. Because now I can't... I need time. My heart... is so wounded, that simple poetic words or knowing that I'm not indifferent to you, it's not enough anymore.- Luke nods, sighing with relief at having at least freed himself from that weight.

-Good, Penelope. I'm willing to wait for as long as you need.- another strong phrase. But who knows if he really is aware of the weight of what he says?

-Are you sure?- she asks, looking directly into his eyes. -Because I don't know how long it will take, it could be days, or maybe a month... or a year- she still feels compelled to warn him. -I have no idea. I don't ask you to wait for me.- she makes this clear.

Luke takes her hands in his. They are so cold, but less than Sam's. -I will wait for you anyway, even if it's forever. Because I love you, and after all, since I was born, I did nothing but wait, living wait to meet you.- this would be too much for anyone, even for her, that even a moment ago (hours, in reality) has asked to the Lord to imagine Luke in the role of her male co-star in the film (or book) of her life.

-Luke, do you realize what you say? Or have you only seen too many romantic films?- he reads the fear in her eyes. But he too is frightened by the strength of his feelings. He hasn't premeditated anything, he merely says what he feels.

-I know it's heavy words and no, I'm not telling you that, by chance, I really think so. I had two years to sculpt them in my heart. I don't mean that Lisa was a mistake or a phase, I would like to believe that she was more than that, she's a good person and deserves better. Someone who loves her as I love you. I'm sorry, I missed it again.- he almost manages to snatch a smile from her. -Please, Penelope, believe me. Tell me that you believe me.- with his extreme joy (but also surprise) she nods.

-I believe you. But now, it's better if you leave. When and if I'm ready, I'll let you know. Okay?- Luke nods, moves away towards the door, opens it and closes it, turns to her. He reaches her and takes her hands. Their lips very close.

May I?- he whispers and after a moment's hesitation, she nods. This could be considered as their first real kiss, because Penelope takes delight it as much as she does, finally letting go. But only for those few seconds. -See you again in the next case, Penelope.- the blonde woman can only nods.

 **

 Wait. Waiting is hateful. Tedious. Enervating. But it's better to live forever in doubt than to know and face a horrible truth that could destroy us?

In any case, Agent Alvez doesn't have much time to think about it, not as much as he thought he had.

He is trying to distract himself by carrying on with his work, when he hears the unmistakable sound of the blonde's heels signaling her entrance. He tries hard take not notice. He told her he wouldn't put pressure on her and intends to respect what he had promised. But those steps are getting closer and closer. A hand is resting on his shoulder. He would recognize that perfume everywhere. He finds himself on his feet and doesn't even have time to say hello. Those fleshy lips take possession of his, Penelope is kissing him, in broad daylight, in front of their colleagues and other federal agents. First the shock, mixed with joy. Then a little embarrassment. -But...- she motions him to silence.

-I told you that I didn't know how much time I'd need.- he replies with a shrug. He notices the smudged lipstick, which is now definitely on his mouth. -I elaborated in a hurry.- she smiles and in a moment he forget everything.

-I realized it.- she smiles in turn, the classic  fishy face thing while looking at her. They hear the giggles of others in the background. -With you there are no half measures! - he finally exclaims, trying to remember where they are.

-Exactly, Alvez . If you really want to be with me, you have to accept the complete package. And if you are ashamed to kiss me in front of my family, you should also when we are alone.- she clarifies, the serious and decisive tone that sends him so much joy.

-I'm not ashamed at all!- she challenges him with her eyes and this time he is grabbing her for life, capturing those saucy lips, that allow to question him. He manages to access her tongue and again, he forgets completely where they are and she too, despite someone (Rossi) tells them to get a room.

But it's the voice of the chief who brings them to reality. -I'm sorry to be forced to break the magic, but we have a case.- both blush, realizing that they had let themselves go a bit too much.

As they head for the meeting room, holding hands like two teenagers, he whispers in her ear See? I was right. Until the next case.- she giggles softly, shaking her head, before looking for the remote and coming back serious.

 ** Today

The woman observes her boyfriend, standing (though with the help of two crutches), next to their best friend and one of the most important people of her life in a day so special... but basically, she had always known that this moment would come. Luke and Penelope were destined to end together, it was only a matter of time. They were just too afraid to admit what they felt for each other... that's nothing new.

A bit like her and Phil. That fathead had even sent her into the arms of another, his best friend, to avoid addressing the fact that she, Lisa Douglas, could be seriously in love with him. No nurse syndrome. After Luke had explained that he couldn't think of her more than a friend, she had forced the ex-federal to wake up. He had to stop to feel sorry for himself and really open up to life, to what he could still reserve for him. After all, it was he who kissed her first, then regretted and threw her into the arms of handsome Latin. That he really was a perfect man. Nice, smart, sweet... and he had Roxy . But he wasn't Phil. And he had Lou.

And now, she too.

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