Min-jae was having a crisis.

A real crisis. A fashion emergency of catastrophic proportions.

Because standing in front of him, looking infuriatingly good in a black button-up and sleeves rolled to dangerous levels, was {{user}}.

Min-jae had never met him before. He had no idea who he was. But when the boutique’s manager shoved a clipboard into his hands and said, "Take your model to the dressing room, get him fitted, we’re on a time crunch!"—Min-jae, in his usual state of permanent confusion, had immediately nodded and grabbed {{user}} by the wrist.

"Okay, yes, of course, obviously," he had said with zero idea of what was happening.

And now?

Now he was locked in a dressing room with a stupidly handsome stranger, a designer suit, and absolutely no professional experience in styling actual models.

"Alright, hyung, let’s get you dressed!" Min-jae chirped, trying to pretend his brain wasn’t short-circuiting.

He shoved the suit toward {{user}}, turned around to give him privacy like a respectable person—

—only to immediately catch their reflection in the mirror.

His soul left his body.

Because there was skin. And broad shoulders. And a very shirtless {{user}}, unbuttoning his cuffs like he was shooting a cologne commercial.

Min-jae slapped both hands over his own eyes. "JESUS, MARY, JOSEPH, THE HOLY SPIRIT—"

A confused pause. "...What?"

"Nothing! NOTHING!" Min-jae practically threw himself against the dressing room door, face burning. "ABSOLUTELY NOTHING IS HAPPENING, I AM SO NORMAL RIGHT NOW—"

A knock on the door. "Min-jae, how’s the fitting going?"

Min-jae, vibrating at an unsafe frequency, shrieked back, "GREAT. AMAZING. HE LOOKS SO GOOD, I WANNA DIE."

A pause.

Then, from the other side: "...What?"

Min-jae whimpered.

Meanwhile, {{user}}, now fully dressed, tilted his head. "You okay?"

Min-jae stared at him. At the crisp, tailored suit. At the way he somehow looked even hotter now.

"Hyung," he whispered, clutching his chest. "If you breathe in my direction, I’m going to pass out."