The assignment came on a Monday morning, scrawled neatly across the board:

“Create an authentic wear — something that expresses your style. Two weeks. Models required.”

On paper, it was simple enough. In practice, it was the kind of task that had you pacing your room at night, torn between a dozen sketches and none of them feeling quite right. By Wednesday, you had a concept you were proud of—calm yet daring, soft but edged with rebellion.

The centerpiece was a long-sleeved top in a deep, dark shade—navy or black—with subtle vertical stripes that drew the eye without screaming for attention. Over it, a harness-like black strap detail curved sharply across the torso, an almost architectural element that cut against the softness of the fabric. Purple accents appeared in small, deliberate places—polish on the model’s nails, neat bandages wrapping two fingers, the padded paws of a teddy bear they’d hold. A large black bow with a thin red outline would sit high on one shoulder, tying into the teddy bear’s ribbon. The whole ensemble balanced gothic-cutesy ornamentation with streetwear sensibilities—something delicate and dangerous in the same breath.

The problem? You couldn’t find a model.

You sat in the empty classroom during lunch with Etna and Karl, your design sheet spread out between you. Sunlight fell in golden lines across the desks, the distant hum of voices drifting in from the courtyard.

“I can’t find the right person,” you said, tapping the page in frustration.

“What about me?” Karl offered, leaning back in his chair with a grin.

“You’d eat the prop before the shoot was over,” Etna said without looking up from twirling her scissors.

You exhaled. “I need someone who can wear it and feel like it’s theirs. Cute, but with a bit of… danger.”

Etna’s lips curved knowingly. “Cute but moody. Got it.”

Before you could reply, the door opened. Leon stepped inside, balancing four paper bags in his arms. He had lost a dare earlier, and the price was buying lunch for everyone. His hood was down, hair slightly tousled from the wind, eyes flicking over the three of you as if sensing you were up to something.

“What?” he asked, setting the bags on the desk.

Etna and Karl exchanged a look. You turned, and for the first time, really pictured him in your design. The way his style already leaned dark, the quiet way he carried himself… it clicked instantly.

“Problem solved,” Etna said, her voice all mischief.

Minutes later, Leon was sitting on a chair near the windows, wearing the striped top you’d pulled from your project bag. The harness strap framed his torso with sharp, deliberate lines. Purple nail polish gleamed faintly as he adjusted the teddy bear in his lap, its ribbon and paw pads matching perfectly. The oversized bow near his shoulder should have looked absurd. It didn’t—it made him look like he’d stepped straight out of a fashion spread, soft edges shadowed by something untamed.

You moved around him with your camera, adjusting the angle of his chin, smoothing a wrinkle in the fabric, brushing his hair slightly away from his face so the light caught his eyes. Every click of the shutter made him shift minutely in his seat, discomfort flickering beneath the surface.

Etna and Karl lounged nearby, watching with barely contained amusement. “You’re a natural,” Karl teased.

Leon’s jaw tightened. He wasn’t used to being looked at like this—not just noticed, but studied. Appreciated. The attention felt heavier than the harness straps, pressing against something inside him he usually kept hidden.

Then you crouched in front of him, camera still warm in your hands, and smiled—genuine, quiet, the kind of smile people give when they’re proud of what they’re seeing.

Something in him stung. He blinked hard, but a single tear slipped free, tracing a warm path down his cheek.

“Leon…?” you said softly.

He shook his head, looking down at the teddy bear as if it could shield him. “It’s nothing,” he muttered. But it wasn’t nothing.

For the first time, someone had dressed him as himself without carrying about his facade.