Muses and Mannequins
Title: Muses and Mannequins
Pairing: Krisyeol
Genre: model!au
Rating: PG-13
Length: 8,445 words (oneshot)
Summary: Kris is the head of a modeling agency and Chanyeol is his new star. When Kris makes a bet with his biggest competitor, he doesn't realize just how much he is putting at stake.
Notes: All the companies, designers, and brands were made up by me (the magazines are legit, though). Also, I know next to nothing about how real modeling agencies work!
When Park Chanyeol is brought in front of Kris Wu, President and CEO of Namja Models, the latter can already see the potential. Chanyeol is just over six feet tall, with a mess of inky hair and impressive cheekbones cresting over his boyish face. His frame bears the exaggerated length that carries clothing best--the lean torso branching into slender arms and legs; the long, bowed neck only interrupted by the jut of an Adam's apple. He's got these pointy elfin ears, too, and Kris already knows they're going to be his signature.
"How old are you?" the executive asks, cocking his head. He's already doing a mental check of the clients who will want first dibs on this kid.
"Twenty-three," Chanyeol replies easily.
Kris is surprised by the age; this new model looks fresh out of high school, as opposed to just two years younger than himself. The kid is confident, though--not cocky, by any means, but it's clear he won't be easily intimidated by anybody. Kris likes him already.
His mental checklist continues. Kakutani always goes for the lanky six-footers; the shorter guys just end up swimming in all their conceptual draping. And Perros loves this kind of face. Nothing sells all that bad boy denim, all those studs and grommets, like a pretty boy with a little edge.
"I know I look younger than I am," Chanyeol adds, his voice a deep, pleasant rumble.
"Right," Kris says. "Nice voice. I'm sure the girls are wild about you."
Chanyeol shrugs, nonchalant. "Thanks, but I don't really have time to date."
Kris hums, leaning back in his cushy leather chair. He stretches out his legs underneath his steel-and-glass desk and crosses his arms behind his head. "Twenty-three's a bit late to be starting in this business, though. What made you decide to wait this long?"
Chanyeol smirks just so, and his dimple caves. "I never wanted to be a model," he answers. "Your guy just found me waiting tables last week and told me there was a better way to make a living."
Nice job, Joonmyun, Kris thinks to himself, already planning to give his best scout a bonus. He's also going to tell Jongdae, the agency's in-house photographer, to snap Chanyeol just like this for his headshot. The smirk gives him the look of a delinquent schoolboy--and Prodigal Son laps that up every season.
"There definitely is a better way," Kris confirms, leaning forward so he can rest his elbows on the desk. "But it's going to be a lot of work. A lot of running around. A lot of getting half-naked in front of strangers. A lot of being thrust into unfamiliar situations. And forget about weekend burger binges on the couch and not going to the gym. Those days are over."
"Okay," Chanyeol says, the first signs of unease dripping into his tone.
Kris chuckles, waving an unconcerned hand. "Don't worry, you'll get used to it. And if the clients like you, which I think they will, you'll get used to the money, too." He leans further over his desk, hands clasped together in a way that means business. "So, would you like to sign with us, Chanyeol? We'd love to have you."
There is a pause as Chanyeol considers the offer. He licks his lips and combs a large hand through his hair, leaving it in artful disarray. What a find, Kris intones in silent awe. I haven't seen a face this good since Jongin.
Ultimately, Chanyeol says yes. "Let's do it," he tells Kris with a grin and a nod. They shake hands, and then it's off to Jongdae for the first professional photographs of Chanyeol's million-dollar mug.
Kris doesn't think it's in poor taste to call himself a genius. He really is one, and that's the honest truth.
Take, for instance, his company. At age 20, Kris put up Namja Models with a grand total of one model, Kim Jongin, who was his junior at university at the time. At age 25, Kris is running the second-best male modeling agency in Seoul, with a solid repertoire of 30 models and a full-time staff of 40 (with health benefits).
When he and Jongin met, Kris was majoring in business, minoring in photography, and Jongin was studying dance. They had one of those boring core classes in common--eco-science or something equally dreary. Kris passed the time studying the people in his class, looking for exceptional bone structure and long, lithe figures to cover in his photography assignments.
When he saw Jongin for the first time--the jawline, the lips--Kris knew he was looking at a hidden treasure.
One day, he had Jongin put on one of his dad's Benino Battaglia suits and jump around with a cigarette dangling from his mouth. Kris always had the kind of charisma you couldn't refuse.
He developed the pictures in moody black-and-white, Jongin dynamic and seductive in each one. Kris' instructor was so pleased, she had the photos posted up in a mini exhibit for the other students to see. Kim Jongin in movement. Photography by Kris Wu.
There was a girl who worked at Elle, and she was staring at Jongin's portraits with intent. "Are you the photographer?" she asked Kris, who was paying his exhibit a little visit.
"Yes, I am," he said.
"Do you know which agency this Kim Jongin is signed to? We'd love to book him for the magazine."
"Yup," Kris answered, buzzing with a brand-new idea. He barely skipped a beat when he informed her, "He's signed with me."
The girl passed him her calling card, and Kris cut his next class to convince Jongin to become a model. It worked.
Jongin booked Elle. And Vogue. And High Cut. And CeCi. And Bazaar. And GQ, naturally.
He also booked campaigns for designer menswear, luxury fragrances, and polished Italian shoes. He got his smirking face and svelte physique plastered over billboards for jeans and underwear. After a while, when it came to most runway work, he had the honor of only opening the shows or closing them, walking hand-in-hand with the designer as the audience rose to its feet. Kris made sure of that.
Jongin was the toast of the town by the time Kris Wu got through with him.
And that's precisely when Byun Baekhyun, President and CEO of BB Model Management (the No. 1 agency in Seoul) snatched Jongin right up. Never mind that Kris had built his five-year-old empire around him.
"This works better for me," is the only thing Jongin had said in parting, scratching at the collarbones that had sold 200,000 units of Man Seoul's low-neck tanks.
Since then, Byun Baekhyun, or "That Bastard," has been persona non grata at Namja headquarters. That includes the outdoor parking lot and the patch of sidewalk next to it where where some of the staffers hail their cabs. And the coffee shop everyone goes to across the street.
Kris has never forgiven Jongin for the betrayal, not after two years, perhaps not ever. Namja's got quite a few stars now--the bleach-blond, punkish Sehun; the androgynous Luhan. But Jongin was the first, and the best, and besides that, Jongin was his friend.
Kris never did find out what That Bastard had said to steal him away. But that's neither here nor there.
He still thinks it's all right to call himself a genius, though, if only in private.
Because on the two-year mark of Jongin abandoning ship, Kris signs Chanyeol, the six-foot-something server with the legs and the ears. And just ten months after he is discovered and put to work under Kris' guidance, Park Chanyeol has become the most sought-after male model in the country.
No biggie.
Today's shoot for L'Officiel Hommes is going to be a good one, Chanyeol reckons. The photographer is a fashion world wunderkind who goes by the name of D.O.--small guy, big eyes, even bigger ideas. His cachet allows him to work primarily out of his warehouse-turned-studio, and always with his own creative team. Chanyeol has already shot with him a handful of times, and they get along like old college buddies.
"Okay, let's do a suit now?" D.O. suggests to the stylist. He's taken just a dozen photos of Chanyeol in this look: dove gray tee, carelessly-cuffed jeans in the same hue, no shoes, a discreet silver chain with a wafer-thin cross hanging from his neck to his sternum. Already, the photographer has all the material he needs, thanks to Chanyeol's chameleonic body language and ability to work tousled hair like an accessory. The magazine editor in attendance is delighted with them both.
The stylist nods at D.O., pursing her painted lips in momentary thought, before telling her assistant to grab the red Kazuo Kim. The bright suit is a shout amidst the muted separates hanging from a sea of racks.
"Nice," D.O. agrees, looking over his shoulder. "I saw that earlier. How much is it? I wonder if it'll fit me."
Chanyeol chuckles behind his fist, passing it off as a cough. The suit is obviously tailored for a taller frame. Five-foot -something D.O. would have to fold the ends of the trousers, maybe four, five times, to keep them from dragging on the ground.
"I want it too, man," Chanyeol quips. "Rock-paper-scissors you for it?"
D.O. rolls his eyes. "Never mind. I'm sure she'll let you have it over me." He cocks his head at the stylist, who titters.
"Yes, I would," she replies, holding up the jacket so her assistant can steam a few wrinkles out of it. When D.O.'s face sours, she hastily adds, "For the full price! That face of yours won't get you a free pass for everything, Chanyeol."
The man in question places a hand over his chest, feigning disbelief. "Who said anything about getting a free pass?" Then he drops the hand and turns on the charm. "I'll buy it off you, Jini, I promise, as soon as you get me out of it."
He means as soon as the stylist puts him into another set of clothes, but mischievous Chanyeol knows the double entendre will get a rise out of somebody.
"Stop flirting with my girlfriend," D.O. grumbles, right on schedule. He's tinkering with the settings of his camera. "You're too tall and famous and I can't punch you."
Chanyeol guffaws at that, the grade-schooler in him surfacing the way it always does around people he likes. He thumps D.O. on the back when he passes him, following the assistant into the changing area. He can hear Jini, the stylist, speaking in cajoling tones: "It's not your size, oppa."
Must be nice, Chanyeol thinks, buttoning himself into a pristine white dress shirt. To have somebody.
There is a crisp, telltale echo of leather shoes working their way across the cement floor. "Where's the kid?" a familiar voice asks.
Chanyeol bounds out of the changing room with his tie (skinny, leather, black) only half-done. "I'm here, hyung!" The indefatigable assistant trails after him with a lint brush and a look of steely determination.
Up ahead, a figure looms in dark denims, a sports coat with a V-neck underneath it, and polished monk shoes. The figure turns, and Chanyeol's all teeth.
"Chanyeol," Kris says, "let Yixing do his job."
"I'm all right, President Wu," the assistant replies, lint brush brandishing. "I'm used to a moving target."
Kris lets a sigh escape him before he waves his protégé over. "You're tie's a mess," the CEO observes.
Jini swoops in, as if on cue. "I'll fix that!" In no time at all, she's got Chanyeol in impeccable state--the shirt and tie a clean-cut contrast, the suit undeniably rock ‘n' roll. She plants him in a pair of metallic tennis shoes before giving him a professional sweep of the eye.
"God, I'm good," she mutters under her breath.
D.O. directs his attention to the other members of his team. "Hair and makeup, could you do a touch-up? He's getting shiny around the nose. And his hair's not…poufing." He curls and uncurls his fingers in the air to illustrate, the childish action causing Kris to snigger.
D.O. turns to him. "Will you be staying, President Wu?"
"Nope," Kris breezes. "I was just dropping by." The look of dissent on Chanyeol's face gives him pause. "What now?"
"You used to sit in on my shoots all the time," the other replies, a pout threatening at the corners of his mouth.
Kris gestures ambiguously. "That's because you were a rookie and I didn't want you tarnishing the good name of my company."
But Chanyeol will not be dissuaded. "Technically, I'm still a rookie. Can't you hang out for a bit?" He rocks back on his heels, hands in his pockets, eyes set to puppy-dog. That puts a chink in Kris' resolve, and the model milks it for all it's worth. "Come on, hyung! It'll be just like old times."
You can almost hear the sound of a deflating balloon when Kris relents. "Fine, fine," he mutters. He pulls his smartphone out of his back pocket and places it on top of the lighted vanity where Chanyeol is getting retouched. Kris sinks elegantly into the makeup chair next to him. "But just for today, kid."
Chanyeol beams, and the makeup artist swats at him with her setting brush to get him to hold still.
Park = 1, Wu = 0.
Chanyeol's not exactly sure when they crossed over from cool boss and aiming-to-please employee to this worn-in hyung-dongsaeng thing they've got going on. All he can remember is doing that big fashion spread for GQ Korea (six pages, no ads) his third week into modeling, and having Kris compliment him for the first time.
Chanyeol was in head-to-toe House of Theo, his fifteenth and final outfit of the day. "Country club casanova gone rogue," is how the stylist had described it. She slid him into a cashmere sweater the color of sand, burgundy chinos, and navy leather topsiders that Chanyeol ended up taking home, to his delight. Finally, he was given a tan motorcycle jacket to shrug into--and it smelled just the way he thought a real man should.
Chanyeol was, after all, a real man.
"Well, well," purred the stylist, a perfumed noona with fluorescent white teeth. "What a looker you are."
The last layout had Chanyeol leaning against a natty little Vespa, nothing complicated, so he got through it fairly quickly. Half the time he flirted with the camera, smile askew; the other half he brooded and toyed with his hair, which was brushed back ala James Dean.
When photographer called out, "That's a wrap," the studio was blanketed in the sounds of packing up. Kris stood up in the back, where he had been observing the shoot for hours.
"Good work," he said, clapping Chanyeol on the back. "First major magazine? Damn. You're a natural."
Chanyeol's insides warmed at the praise, and he rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "Thanks, hyu--" he began to say, before catching himself at the last minute. President Wu, he chided himself. He's your boss.
Kris laughed. "It's all right, kid."
Under normal circumstances, real man Chanyeol would have chafed at the nickname. But Kris looked so much more amiable with his crinkled eyes, so much younger with his gums showing at the back of his smile, that Chanyeol decided to let it slide.
He went for it a second time. "Thanks, hyung." The title seemed to fit like a glove. And it stuck.
So did 'kid.'
Chanyeol still complains about it from time to time, especially when he's tired and acting petulant. But the truth is that it makes him feel special, knowing he's the only one Kris Wu, President and CEO of Namja Models, has a soft spot for.
Byun Baekhyun is a young, medium-sized mogul who swathes himself in animal print and neon. Byun Baekhyun owns an extensive collection of sunglasses that corresponds to every color and pattern in his wardrobe, so he can sport a new pair every day. Byun Baekhyun, with his mad fashion and matching sunnies, is still not permitted on the premises.
So it's a mystery, really, how Byun Baekhyun is sitting in the lobby this fine Monday morning.
The moment Kris spots him, he breaks out in ice-cold irritation.
"Kristopher!" Baekhyun croons, waving a delicate hand. The businessman in Kris begrudgingly admits that that hand could sell a busload of engagement rings.
He grits out, "Byun."
"It's been ages," Baekhyun whines, rising from the couch. He shakes out his zebra print short suit, whips off his zebra print wayfarers , and peeks at Kris mischievously from under his lashes. "Buy you brunch?"
Baekhyun's never pulled a stunt like this before, so even though he's fuming, Kris has to admit that he's curious.
He lets Baekhyun power-walk him to an ivy-covered al fresco joint a few blocks away. Baekhyun chatters incessantly on the way and takes the liberty of ordering for them both once they've been seated. And then he chatters some more.
Kris hears him out for all of 60 seconds before cutting him off. "What do you want, Byun?"
"Aw, Kristopher, business already?" Baekhyun complains. But his eyes are gleaming.
"Stop calling me that," Kris replies, poker-faced. "Now tell me what this is all about so I can get back to work."
"Oh, all right, don't get huffy." Baekhyun pushes his sunglasses into his glossy, ash-brown bangs. He props up his chin with his elbows. "I want to make a bet with you."
"A bet?"
"Yes, a bet!" Baekhyun grins, Cheshire-like. "And whoever wins gets to ask the other to give him anything he wants."
"Byun," Kris says calmly, "why the hell would I make a bet with a snake like you?"
"Because," Baekhyun retorts, a tad ruffled, "it involves the next Xiumin show."
Kris snaps to attention at the name. Xiumin is not a fashion designer--he's a virtuoso. Every year, he issues a single, spectacular collection. No spring/summer, no fall/winter, no resort or transitional line--just one solitary opus. The collection is unveiled via runway show in Seoul, a one-night-only event attended by actors, pop stars, and press from every style capital of the world.
Since his resplendent debut, Xiumin has handpicked a new muse to open and close his show--always male, and never the same one twice. Immediately following the gig, the lucky guy is thrust into the global spotlight, his job title as "model" taking on the coveted prefix of super.
Xiumin is notoriously picky, though, and a known wildcard. When Jongin was still with Namja Models, he was tapped to walk in the show for two consecutive years, but never managed to open or close. And this is Kim Jongin.
"Fair enough," Kris says. "What's the bet?"
Baekhyun forks up a bite of his eggs Benedict, triumphant. "There are two phases to it. First, we both put our top guys in the running. Whoever gets picked for the show wins."
"And if they both get picked?" Kris ventures.
"Phase two," Baekhyun singsongs. "If we each get a model in the show, then whoever is tapped to open and close wins. If neither of them--and by association, us--gets the gig, we call it even. I'll even buy you brunch again!" He swipes his thumb over a dab of hollandaise sauce speckling the corner of his mouth and sucks it off.
Kris isn't really a betting man, but he knows the international exposure for his agency would be priceless. He's also hyperaware that Baekhyun wants the same for BB Model Management, and Kris will be damned if he lets that happen.
"And the prize?" he asks.
"That's the fun part!" Baekhyun's smile is a wide, wicked slice across his face. "The winner gets to have the loser's model for a month. Representation, bookings, commission, the works. Say, for instance, that new star of yours--Chanyeol, is it? I assume he's the one you'll be sending to the go-sees? If he lost to my Zitao, then not only would I have the pleasure of seeing my protégé headline a Xiumin show--divine--I'd also get Chanyeol on my lineup for 30 days." He gestures in Kris' direction, palm pale and silken. "And vise versa, of course, if Chanyeol beat out Zitao."
Kris pulls in some air through his nostrils, thoughtfully pressing two fingers to his mouth. "I'm not sure our models would agree to being traded," is his expressed opinion. But in truth, he's already thinking of ways to broach the subject with Chanyeol.
"Zitao's in," Baekhyun tells him mildly. And then That Bastard leans in. "Since you and I are such good friends, I'll throw in a bonus. Can you guess what it is? No? Okay, then: I'll tell you how I got Jongin." His voice, tuned just above a whisper, is hypnotic. "Aren't you dying to know? I'll give you the whole story. Every single detail."
That does it, of course. Kris blanches, and he leans back into his wrought-iron chair, momentarily losing his cool. "You wouldn't…"
"I absolutely would, Kristopher." Baekhyun brushes off his hands and nudges his sunglasses back down onto the bridge of his nose. He sips his espresso, pinky up. "So, what do you say?"
What's wrong with a little competition? Kris reasons with himself. The kid won't mind.
He shoots back, "You're on."
Baekhyun puckers at him, the sound cloying, and calls for the bill.
Chanyeol is still scrubbing the sleep from his eyes when he pushes through the glass doors leading into Kris' office. He hasn't seen the CEO in a few weeks; not since the shoot with D.O., which was the first in a parade of magazine spreads, CF filmings, and runway shows he'd booked back to back.
When Kris phoned him this morning and told him to swing by the agency for a chat, Chanyeol didn't mind, considering this was to be his first day off in a while. Today feels like a homecoming of sorts, one of those times to be nostalgic about in the hustle of the future--and he can't wait to kick back with Kris for a few hours and make the memory grand.
As soon as Chanyeol saunters in, Kris cocks his chin in greeting. There's a document, rigid and professional, in his hands.
"You're here."
"Hey, hyung." Chanyeol yawns, stretching his arms over his head until his shoulders crick. "What's up?"
Kris seems a little twitchy, he notices. It's not difficult to, since his boss normally possesses the steadiness of an iceberg. Chanyeol assumes it's because the grueling series of go-sees for Seoul Fashion Week is about to commence, and Kris is very much hands-on with all his models' schedules.
Chanyeol is a star now, so he doesn't have to attend as many of these things (essentially auditions) as he used to. Like all the other top guys, he gets booked on his portfolio alone. But when a really big client requires him to come in for a test (and it always happens on a day when Chanyeol's got too much on his plate already), he can anticipate Kris' call--the personal reminder to make all his appointments.
"Sit down," Kris says. "We need to discuss something." He smooths over the document with his palm, and Chanyeol can almost feel the texture of it under his own fingertips.
He collapses into one of the seats in front of Kris' desk. "Shoot."
Kris clasps his hands together. "I'm guessing you know the new Xiumin show is coming up."
Chanyeol nods. "Luhan told me. Said it's the biggest gig of the year?"
"Yes, it is." Kris confirms. "So big, in fact, that I made a wager on it."
"Who says 'wager' nowadays?" Chanyeol teases, his eyes narrowing into impish slits. He gets a blank stare in return. "Fine, tell me about your wager."
The CEO clears his throat. "It involves you." He pushes the document he'd been holding earlier across his desk.
Chanyeol is side-tracked by the neon letterhead for a moment: a diagram of lurid pinks and greens. He takes the sheaf of paper between his fingers and starts to read. It's a contract.
In the background, Kris is ranting. "The nerve of That Bastard, coming into our territory unannounced. What was the receptionist thinking, letting him in like that?"
"Baekhyun was here?" Chanyeol murmurs distractedly. He reads:
Should a Talent belonging to one of the two parties (namely, BB Model Management and Namja Models) be selected as Opener and Closer for the runway show, said Talent's agency will be regarded as the winner of the wager. The winning agency will then merit the contract and services of the losing agency's Talent for the duration of one (1) full month, after which the agreement will be considered fulfilled.
"I'm just glad he had the tact to send the contract via messenger instead of delivering it in person," Kris is saying. "I really thought he would--"
"What does this mean?" Chanyeol interrupts. "That the winner will merit the contract and services of the loser's talent for a month?"
"Oh, you're there already?" Kris reroutes his train of thought. "It means if you beat Zitao and Xiumin asks you to headline, we get Byun's star player for 30 days. Representation, bookings, commission, the works."
"Does it also mean that if Zitao beats me, you're giving me to Baekhyun for a month?"
"Zitao will never beat you," Kris replies automatically. He misses the way Chanyeol falters over that one word: giving. "You're too good," Kris adds.
Chanyeol barely waits for him to finish. "Did you OK this?" Heat presses at his temples, and there's a squeeze in his chest. "Did you tell Baekhyun you were cool with it?"
He sees the flicker in Kris' face, and Chanyeol knows he must look a little upset. What's happening to me? he wonders, confused and aching.
"I did," Kris admits, but he says the words slowly, like he's speaking to Chanyeol in an unfamiliar language. "Is that all right?"
It probably takes him a few seconds to respond, but the rush of heat and the tightness disorient him, so the pause seems much longer.
"You're the boss," Chanyeol says quietly, sliding the contract back.
He wants to read the look on Kris' face right now, to judge if it matches the hesitance in his speech. But Chanyeol feels heavy all over, like his bones and muscles are thick molasses, and his head droops of its own accord, keeping their eyes from meeting.
"Do you not want to do it?" Kris asks in a careful voice.
"No, I'll do it," Chanyeol replies, his voice leveled and polite. He gets up with calculated nonchalance and pretends to stretch again. Inside, he is panicking; all he wants to do is get out, out, out.
Kris gets up, too. "Are you leaving? I was going to ask you--"
"To sign this?" Briskly, Chanyeol plucks a pen from the bouquet of ballpoints on Kris' desk. "Where?"
"Oh," Kris says, like he's at a loss. "Okay. Right here." He points to a dotted line near the bottom of the sheet marked "Park Chanyeol." Next to it is another dotted line for the CEO to sign.
Chanyeol scribbles over his name with a flourish and drops the pen back into its platinum holder.
"Anything else?" the model asks, the question practically a dare. This time, he wills himself to look Kris square in the eye. If this was any other day, and something dense and foreign wasn't beating his ribcage raw, Chanyeol would have gloated--because the impregnable President Wu actually looks unsure of himself.
"What I was…I meant to say…" Kris attempts, and fails. He gathers himself together with an embarrassed laugh. "I was going to ask if you wanted to grab something to eat. It's your day off, isn't it, kid?"
The endearment stings, as Chanyeol suspects it will for a while. "Sorry," he says, smiling a little too softly, swallowing the ‘hyung' that would have followed the apology. "I've got plans."
There's no way Zitao will beat him, Kris tells himself throughout the week, feeling guilty and frustrated because of it.
On the big day, he calls Chanyeol--thrice, because the kid won't answer. When Kris finally gives up and taps the SMS icon on his phone, he gets a message.
At Xiumin go-see, Chanyeol texts, short and sweet.
Kris runs his thumb over the screen. There's no way Zitao will beat him. Not a chance.
Joonmyun tells him later that Chanyeol was a smash. "The client loved him," the model scout-turned-model manager gushes. "They put him in six different looks, couldn't decide which one they liked better. Xiumin just wanted him to keep walking. He said, and I quote, he's never seen anyone so made for runway."
Kris nods. "How many looks did they test on Zitao?"
"Two," Joonmyun says. "Just two."
Baekhyun had phoned earlier, his voice as brassy as a doorbell on Kris' intercom. Both models had booked Xiumin's show, as expected. Baekhyun prattled on about sending celebratory champagne in the mail.
"Byun," Kris had said, right before hanging up, "stop fucking calling me."
It turns out two looks on Zitao had been enough for Xiumin to make up his mind.
"He said he liked his face," Joonmyun explains, his shrug resigned. "He said Zitao looked a little dangerous."
A few days later, svelte, fox-faced Zitao is first on the runway at Xiumin's show, his near-golden skin radiating in the camera flashes. He opens in a black leather suit, hair dyed platinum and rakishly windswept. He closes in a white leather suit, the shirt underneath sheer and made of a kind of silk that out-prices lesser diamonds.
Chanyeol is second on the runway, and then twentieth, when he does his last change.
Kris catches up to him after the spectacle, long fingers curling into the lean muscle of Chanyeol's arm. "You were awesome," he initiates, giving the younger a squeeze and wondering if he should say more.
Chanyeol's mouth quirks, but his dimple stays hidden. He keeps his hands fisted softly in the pockets of his Xiumin trousers (houndstooth, monochrome, with a matching peacoat).
"See you around, hyung," he says gently, and then Kris has to watch him walk through the crowd, over to a waiting Byun Baekhyun.
Two days pass. Kris remembers the way he used to feel in school, when the worst classes seemed to drag on forever, and everybody braced themselves in their seats, waiting for the bell to give them respite.
He types out a text message to Chanyeol, several times, without actually sending it.
How's it going? (Delete.) Having fun? (Delete.) What does Byun's office look like? (Delete.)
On Day 3, he runs out of patience, punches out the first thing that comes to mind, and presses send.
Lunch?
It's close to dinnertime when Chanyeol replies, the sky swooning rosy-red into evening. Kris is moody, his leg sore from an afternoon of jiggling it under the table, waiting. When his phone pings, he half-expects it to be Joonmyun or Jongdae, or one of the models double-checking their schedules.
Chanyeol's text reads: Hey. Sorry, I was at a shoot all day.
Kris quickly types out his reply: It's cool, wanna grab dinner instead?
When he doesn't get an answer in the next five minutes, Kris returns to the new headshots he'd been proofing. He keeps his phone in his lap, and he sighs every time he glances at its dark screen.
Half an hour later, it lights up with another text from Chanyeol: We made dinner plans for after the shoot, sorry.
Kris swallows hard, and he's bothered by a sudden feeling of loss. Without thinking, he types out: Who's we?
Chanyeol's reply comes fast this time, almost like he was rushing: Me and Baek.
Hot, molten resentment fills the void in Kris like a mold. His lip curls when he keys in his next text: It's "Baek" now? Really, Chanyeol? It hasn't even been a week.
The bravado leaves him as quickly as the message does, though. Kris flips his phone over on his desk and slaps a palm over his eyes, exhaling ruefully.
Chanyeol response is, once again, prompt: Sorry. He's my boss now. We work together.
Kris is still trying to think of what to say to smooth things over when a follow-up message arrives.
You're the one who made the bet, hyung.
There is nothing left to say, really. It's all achy and wrenching in his system now, the delayed regret. Kris can't remember why he thought showing up Byun Baekhyun could be more important than keeping Chanyeol around, and happy.
He texts back: I know. And after that: I'm sorry.
Only then does he realize it's the first time he's said it in their entire exchange, while Chanyeol has been needlessly apologizing all the while.
Kris doesn't expect a reply. He works well into the night, ordering cheap, bland takeout to quiet his belly, and then he goes home and crawls into bed. When he wakes up the next day and scrolls through the messages that have piled up in his inbox overnight, he still feels a pang when there is no word from the kid.
On Day 10, Fashion Week is going balls to the wall, with Chanyeol caught in the whip and flurry of it. Somehow, he catches a breather before Kal Kang Spring 2014, his eyelids still kohl-rimmed from the New Age show prior.
Backstage, with Swedish electronica pulsing in his ears and Zitao yawning beside him, Chanyeol drops into a makeup chair and takes out his phone. It's muscle memory that lets his fingers map their way to his inbox with his eyes only at half-mast. He taps the screen, and the message from a week ago is staring him in the face for the nth time.
I'm sorry, Kris had said, not quite an invitation, not quite a dismissal.
Chanyeol's sorry, too, he thinks, pushing his chin into the heel of his hand. Sorry he let his pride walk him straight into this stupid bet, just so he wouldn't have to tell Kris he minded, and most importantly, why.
He stares at the message for a while before pressing the button that turns off the screen.
On Day 18, Kris runs into Jongin in the public library, of all places.
"Sunbae," a light voice greets him from behind. When Kris turns, it's his former protégé, youngish in a band tee and faded jeans.
Kris is caught completely unawares, so he forgets he's supposed to be angry. "Jongin," he acknowledges the other. "I haven't seen you in--"
"Years?" Jongin grins. "That's not true. I'm at all the shows with your other guys."
Kris' lips part, but Jongin beats him to the punch. "You just haven't spoken to me in years," he says, easy and bantering.
Kris snorts. "Yeah, well, you know." He slides the hand that's not clutching a book into his pocket. "You did let That Bastard talk you into leaving the agency."
"Actually," Jongin says, "I talked him into letting me transfer."
There is a beat, wherein Kris can hear the ambient sounds in the library, and feel the scratch of his throat as he swallows, and sense the air stilling in his nostrils. "You…what?"
Jongin softens noticeably, brown eyes the shade of repentance. "It was my idea."
"Why?" Kris demands, jerking his hand from his pocket to cradle his temple. It doesn't help him focus any better, the way it's supposed to in the movies. He's not angry like he thought he would be--stunned is more like it--but this new information is hard to process.
There's a sigh skating under Jongin's answer. "I had to get over you somehow." He smiles, and it's a reproach.
"Jongin," Kris utters, unable to produce a better response.
"Don't worry, I did." The pretty boy chuckles; a guileless sound. "I've forgotten all about you, really. Took some time--took some people--but I managed."
Kris is still in a catatonic state, one hand hovering at his temple where he'd last left it, the other swiftly losing its grip on the forgotten book. When the hardcover slips from his fingers, it's Jongin who reaches out to catch it.
"You were never very good with surprises," Jongin snickers. He smacks Kris harmlessly on the chest. "I'm not into you anymore! Don't be awkward."
"I just--I never knew," Kris manages to say.
"You never know anything that isn't business. I learned that the hard way," Jongin tells him simply. "You're so involved with your guys and their work, so on top of things. But I bet you don't even know which one of them I'm seeing."
"You're seeing one of my models?!" Kris balks.
Jongin tosses his head back, uncorking a delicious peal of laughter, like froth from a champagne bottle.
"Who?" Kris demands.
"Guess."
A thought flutters through his mind, light as a petal. The sudden panic is different, slamming Kris in the gut like a crowbar. He asks, "It's not Chanyeol, is it?"
"No. It's not Chanyeol." Jongin's countenance is unreadable. "But then, everyone at BB knows Chanyeol's kind of taken."
"Oh," Kris says. "I didn't know that." Somewhere under his ribs, the jealousy is bruising.
"See?" Jongin prods his arm, gaze alight with something Kris can't pin down. "Without your desk and your designers, you're just clueless."
He's still holding Kris' library book, and he glances at it idly before making to hand it over. He sees the title, blinks, and does a violent double-take.
"Out and About: The Secret to Being a Powerful Gay Man," Jongin recites, his voice trailing off at the end. "Oh, my God."
Kris flails, snatching the book back. "Not a word, Jongin."
"Oh. My. God," Jongin breathes, almond eyes shining with mirth. "Omigod!" He cackles. "You're…I didn't know? Guess you're not as clueless as you were with me."
"I don't understand what you're saying," Kris groans, spinning with mortification.
"You'll get there," is the only clue Jongin will give him. Subdued now, he cups his hand over Kris' shoulder. An apology, a thank-you. "I have to go," Jongin says, "but it was nice talking to you again, sunbae."
With an amiable wave, he leaves the CEO, whose mouth hangs comically agape.
"Hey!" Kris calls out moments later when he gets back his bearings. This is really not what he should be fixating on, but a concealer-caked hickey on a sharp collarbone insists against his memory. "Is it--is it Sehun?"
Jongin looks over his shoulder, the way he did in that SeaVilian swimwear commercial with three million views on Youtube (not too shabby for a Korean fashion ad). Then he winks.
On Day 29, Baekhyun takes Chanyeol out to one of his infamous brunches. They end up in the same place he'd taken Kris weeks before. The servers bow graciously in their starched black aprons, trying not to stare at Baekhyun's pink festival of a suit.
"Tomorrow's your last day with us," Baekhyun muses, tapping a finger against a flute of pale champagne.
Chanyeol is grinding an English banger finely between his teeth, so he just nods.
"About that," says the medium-sized mogul, slipping off his mirrored aviators with custom pink temples. "How would you feel about extending your stay?"
Carefully, Chanyeol asks, "What do you mean?" He takes a swig of his ice water to wash the rest of the sausage down--but really to break eye contact with the devil.
Baekhyun smirks, like the cat that got the cream, so Chanyeol knows he's doing an awful job of acting blasé. Reading people is part of Baekhyun's business--in fact, it made him No. 1. He knows which faces sell because their expressions are authentic and evocative, and which ones are pushed to the side of a photo pile because they seem rehearsed, no matter how stunning the model. So when Chanyeol blinks a little too quickly and keeps his eyes lowered, relaxing his shoulders just-so-but-not-quite, BB's fearless leader goes straight for the kill.
"You should sign with me, Chanyeol."
Chanyeol feels the nerves kick in, but he manages to set his mouth in a disagreeable line. "I'm already signed with Namja."
"So was Jongin," Baekhyun purrs, looking arch. "But then he realized how much better it would be once he moved."
"No offense to Jongin," Chanyeol retorts, "but I'm loyal."
"Oh, so was he!" There are stars in Baekhyun's eyes now. "Back then I thought he was coming in as a spy, but that certainly wasn't the case. You didn't know?"
Chanyeol doesn't see it coming, of course. Nobody told him any of this. "Know what?"
A veinless wrist flicks up from the table, pointer raised to catch the nearest server's attention. "Yoohoo!" Baekhyun singsongs. "We're going to need more bubbly over here."
D-Day comes with mild weather and a hastily put-together version of Kris that can't stop pacing the room. It's Day 31, the day he gets Chanyeol back--and the kid said he'd be in early.
Can I see you in your office at 8AM? Chanyeol's late-night text had read.
Of course, Kris had replied, alone with a beer and painfully eager. I'll be there.
Now, he wonders if he should have prepared a better homecoming spread than their usual large coffees and whole grain sandwiches from the place across the street. He is grabbing his coat to make a run for Chinese spring rolls when there is a rap on the door, and a figure pushes in.
It's Chanyeol, handsome and welcome, yet unfamiliar; too polished for this time of day without his sweatshirt and a backwards cap. His pale blue suit, striped polo, and loafers are so unlike him off the clock, and they strike Kris as a warning.
But that doesn't stop him from striding over, anyway, like his legs have a life of their own.
"Hey, kid." He claps Chanyeol on the shoulder, leaving his hand there. But it's not enough, so he tells himself, Fuck it, and pulls in the other for a hug.
Chanyeol lets himself be held, but he doesn't put his arms out to reciprocate. He only says, "Hyung," and Kris' heart twists because he missed it so much.
"I'm glad you're back," he begins. It's now or never. "I have something to say to you."
"I'm not back for good," Chanyeol blurts out, curling into himself so he can leave Kris' embrace. "I just came to tell you that." His words thin out at the end. "Wait, what do you want to say to me?"
"What do you mean?" Kris feels the terrifying jump in his stomach, like he's fallen down a flight of stairs in a dream. "What do you mean you're not back for good?"
"I had a ball over at BB," Chanyeol replies. His language is unnatural, and Kris can tell he is gritting his teeth from the way his jaw contracts. "It might be a good idea for me to--"
"No." Kris shakes his head. "No. Don't leave us for That Bastard, Chanyeol. Namja needs you!"
"You know it doesn't. Not really," Chanyeol mutters. "This is the modeling industry. Fickle as hell. You'll find someone new in no time."
Kris objects, "That's not true!"
"You found the rest of us after Jongin left," Chanyeol reminds him quietly. "Sehun and Luhan and me."
"You're special," Kris says, the confession dancing on the tip of his tongue.
"If I was," Chanyeol whispers, "you wouldn't have traded me to Baekhyun like an old mannequin."
That cuts, and Kris fights the urge to pull Chanyeol back into his grip. "I'm sorry," he says instead, soft and desperate. "It was a stupid thing to do. I didn't think it through. I didn't think." He is speaking in earnest, truly, but the words come out too weak, not nearly reassuring enough. He wants to slam his head into his hands because he can feel Chanyeol already slipping away.
"Is that what you wanted to tell me? If it is, you didn't have to." Chanyeol sounds equally miserable. "You don't have to apologize for anything. It was unorthodox, but you're my boss, and it's not like I've ever said no to you."
"Listen to me, kid--"
"I have to go," Chanyeol declares suddenly. "I have some things to discuss with Baekhyun. Got all dressed up for it, too."
"Don't!" Kris all but shouts. "Don't leave."
"Why not?" Chanyeol's tone is uncharacteristically spiteful, but not like he's angry--like he's in pain. "What does Namja have that BB can't give me?"
"Chanyeol…"
"Tell me!"
"I think I love you," Kris breathes out. "And I need you with me." He throws up his hands and drops them to his sides. "That's all I have."
Chanyeol is stunned into complete silence, and the discreet rumble of the traffic outside filters into the quiet office. He runs his fingers through his hair; once, twice.
The words tumble out now, like an invisible dam has shattered. "I'm sorry about the bet," Kris mumbles. "I didn't realize it would cause so much offense--but I should have. I'm an idiot. I can't give you a better excuse because there isn't any." He rubs a hand across his forehead. "And I'm sorry, I'm just so sorry. I didn't know at the time how I felt. About you. And now that I do, I just don't want to lose you--this--what we have. Had."
Chanyeol still doesn't say a word, and Kris is filled with the fear that he has scared him off.
"You don't have to pay it any attention. It, me, you know what I mean. I just…I just wanted to tell you, because--oh, God, it's because I'm being selfish again, isn't it? I was just thinking about my own peace of mind. It's always about Kris Wu--"
"Hyung," Chanyeol finally cuts in. "Stop."
Then he steps forward, slips his palm over the hinge of Kris' jaw, and kisses him. Hard.
Oh, Kris says to himself. Oh, wow.
"I've never heard you talk so much," Chanyeol murmurs into the kiss, relenting when Kris starts to pant. "I kind of like it."
"Don't leave me," Kris hums, delirious with happiness and the damp slide of Chanyeol's lips.
"I won't," the latter promises, pushing gently until they're against a wall. The kisses have turned fond and indulgent, with spaces in between for words and air. "I actually thought I could. For the same reason as Jongin, apparently." He bumps their noses together. "Heartbreaker."
"You know about that?" Kris asks, lids fluttering. A vague memory from a conversation hits him. He pulls back abruptly, eyes snapping open. "I saw Jongin a few weeks ago in the library, when I was doing…research. He told me--told me, um, how do I--"
"What did he tell you?" Chanyeol mumbles, trying to get Kris' mouth back on his.
"He said something about everyone knowing you were taken." Kris takes a deep breath. "Were you seeing someone over there?" Hurriedly, he adds, "It's fine if you were, it's none of my business."
Chanyeol can only smile, pulling back to regard the CEO's face in a cocktail of affection and disbelief. "You really are clueless, aren't you?" When Kris doesn't respond, the model dips to nuzzle his lips. "I only see you. That's what everybody knows."
"Oh," Kris says, out loud this time. It's thrilling, the way Chanyeol presses his nose into the crook of his neck and circles Kris with his arms. "Oh, wow."
Two months later, the first editorial Chanyeol shot during his brief stint with BB Model Management hits the stands. It's a cinematic spread in Vogue Girl Korea, 12 pages starring Chanyeol and the hot new actress of the year as lovestruck college students. The stylist dressed them in matching pastels and twee prints, vintage sunglasses like the cool kids'. The photographer had them whisper over school desks and race hand-in-hand through the cobbled streets of Bukchon. The editor titled it "Forever Young."
It's pretty romantic, Chanyeol admits to himself, leafing through the issue on the couch in Kris' office. At the end of the shoot, the Vogue girls had them fill out these slambook-style questionnaires to be printed in their own handwriting as a sidebar. As he scribbled in his answers, the actress' manager had actually tried to set them up on a date.
Of course, when he shows Kris the magazine, Chanyeol doesn't neglect to relay this information, oh-so-casually. The executive's face doesn't budge an inch. But he does come across exceedingly dry when he asks, "What did you say?"
Chanyeol's grin stretches from ear to ear. There's a gotcha hiding in there, behind his pearly whites. "I said my brilliant, bitchy boyfriend wouldn't like that."
Kris flushes, but he keeps his tone sarcastic. "You didn't have a brilliant, bitchy boyfriend at the time of this shoot."
"Yes, I did," Chanyeol flirts, not letting up. "You just didn't know it yet."
And Kris laughs openly, façade obliterated. "Touché," he says, running a thumb over Chanyeol's chin. "Now get going. You have that Cosmo shoot in an hour."
"Yes, sir," Chanyeol says, leaning in for a swift kiss.
When he leaves, Kris picks up the magazine and flips through it until he gets to the spread. He smiles as he peruses the pages, proud of how good Chanyeol looks (his Chanyeol, officially). He stops on the layout where the two questionnaires have been posted like notes on a bulletin board. Chanyeol's is on the left.
Name: Park Chanyeol
Age: 23 24
You live in: Seoul
You're listening to: Beenzino
You're watching: Law of the Jungle
You're snacking on: Crunky Chocolate
You're in love with: Modeling
You're thinking of: K.W.
Kris Wu, President and CEO of Namja Models, tries to fight the feels, but loses most unceremoniously.
He types out a text to Chanyeol.
I really do like you, kid.
Seconds later, he gets a response:
<3