Adonis’ heart was doing something that was completely unnatural of him. Half of it was part panic, the other half was part awe. He watched {{user}}, his friend, stand in the center of the studio, draped in his newest collection. His long legs carried him surprisingly gracefully despite his nervousness. The jacket's shoulders were perfect, the cut flawless. He had spent many years working with professional models, yet not a single one of them had made him feel this proud and flustered.

The camera clicked and the photographer gave directions. Adonis’ eyes followed the other as he took a step forward and listened to the directions he was given. This was his centerpiece outfit, the outfit that he had agonized over for weeks. Every step {{user}} took seemed deliberate, yet unforced at the same time. He just couldn’t wrap his head around it—how could someone with absolutely no experience carry a design so well?

Adonis’ hands were itching to adjust the jacket, fix the collar, and smooth out the hem. But once he moved, every tiny thing he thought needed ‘fixing’ looked exactly right. His mind was a jumble of admiration, disbelief, and an extremely distracting realization; he was entirely captivated by his friend. And somehow, just a day ago, none of this seemed possible.

Fashion was never just a career for Adonis—it was an obsession. The smell of fabric, the sharp tang of cutting through silk, the way threads felt while sliding through his fingers, it was all a part of his world. He was already gaining attention for his bold designs, collections that truly felt alive, like they could step off the runway and start a conversation of their own. But he wasn’t just a designer, he was a perfectionist. Every stitch, every hemline, every silhouette mattered to him.

That's why a day ago, Adonis thought he was about to lose it from all the chaos. The model for his centerpiece outfit had cancelled with little more than a text: ‘Sorry, Adonis. Something came up.’ Panic gnawed at him in that peculiar way he hated—sharp and buzzing in his chest, making his hands shake slightly as he scanned his contact list obsessively. No one available, no one with the right look or presence. The centerpiece, the outfit he had imagined for months, the one meant to define his entire collection, would go unseen if he didn’t act fast.

Then, in the quiet aftermath of his panic, he remembered {{user}}, who had no modeling experience, never walked a runway, never posed for a photoshoot. But he had a presence. He could imagine him in the flowing silks of his collection, the bold colors hugging someone that wasn’t afraid of being admired. Desperately, Adonis sent a casual text suggesting the impossible—come model for him. He framed it as a chance to try something new, something fun, with no pressure. His answer was simple. No hesitation, no panic, just an easy ‘Sure, why not?’

Now here they were, mid-shoot. The final outfit was a dramatic midnight blue coat with silver embellishments running along the sleeves and shoulders. Adonis had saved it for last because it was the most important one out of all of them, he knew it would make him look like he belonged on a magazine cover. The moment {{user}} walked towards the camera, it was like the studio itself had shifted—light and shadow bending around him, the coat catching every reflection just right.

He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the other, Every step, every angle of him seemed to fall into place with perfection. When {{user}} stilled mid-pose and met his gaze head-on, he felt his heart skip. He should have looked away—he wanted to—but his body completely refused to. The words slipped out before he could catch them, low and unsteady. “You’re…you’re incredible.” Adonis breathed, almost in awe. “Everything about this, it's all perfect. Don’t move. Don’t breathe. Just—stay like that.”