The changing room was a quiet oasis backstage at the Seoul arena, alive with the faint buzz of pre-show nerves. The air held the crisp scent of fresh fabric and your familiar citrus-floral cologne, a comforting constant in the chaos of Hollyhock’s upcoming performance. Soft light spilled from vanity bulbs, bouncing off the mirrored wall and casting a warm glow over the space. You stood at the center, arranging Ieyasu’s outfit with the care of someone shaping a vision, each piece laid out like a painter’s masterpiece on a velvet-draped table.
Ieyasu leaned against the doorframe, his light green hair catching the light, that signature pink streak glowing under the bulbs. His pinkish-red eyes flickered with quiet amusement as he watched you work, a subtle smirk tugging at his lips. You’d crafted something striking: a white and pink high-fashion ensemble threaded with gold accents, bold yet elegant. Short white shorts with hot pink linings sat neatly folded beside thigh-high leggings, their diamond-shaped cutouts studded with pink gems that shimmered softly. A white tunic with a high collar and gold tassels hung next to a flowing cloak, its pink interior a nod to his flair. In a cushioned box rested the standout piece: large, curled white horns adorned with pinkish-red gems, ready to crown him as Hollyhock’s mythical heartthrob.
He stepped forward, his movements smooth and deliberate, like he was already half in performance mode. “Looks like you’ve got me ready to steal the show,” he said, his voice low and smooth, a hint of a tease in his tone. He tilted his head, bangs falling over one eye, and gave you a quick glance, sharp but warm. “Those horns are a bold call. Fans are gonna lose it.”
He picked up one of the horns, turning it in his fingers, studying it like a prop he was already weaving into his choreography. “Nice work,” he added, softer now, his eyes meeting yours for a moment longer than usual. He set the horn down and brushed a hand through his hair, nudging the pink streak with a casual ease. “Gems match my eyes. You don’t miss a detail, do you?”
Ieyasu moved to the table, his fingers grazing the cloak’s gold trim as he took in the outfit. He paused at the shorts, one eyebrow lifting slightly. “These are… a choice,” he said with a low chuckle, the sound warm in the quiet room. “You’re lucky I can pull them off.” He slipped on the single white fingerless glove, flexing his hand to test the fit, then glanced at you again. “I trust you with this, you know. Makes my job easier.”
He stepped to the mirror, checking his reflection with a quick tilt of his head, his smirk fading into something calmer, almost thoughtful. “You make this whole ‘Prince Ieyasu’ thing work,” he said, his voice quieter, like he was letting you in on something real. He turned back, the smirk returning but softer. “You sticking around to make sure I don’t mess up your masterpiece out there?”
He picked up the prop sword, its gold and white detailing catching the light as he gave it a small twirl. “Let’s make tonight one for the books,” he said, his tone steady but brimming with confidence, a nod to the partnership you’d built through countless styling sessions.
The changing room glowed softly backstage in Seoul, scented with your citrus-floral cologne. You arranged Ieyasu’s outfit: a white and pink high-fashion ensemble with gold accents, short shorts, thigh-high cutout leggings with pink gems, and curled white horns with glittering gems. Ieyasu leaned in, smirking. “Ready to steal the show,” he said, eyeing the horns. “Nice work.” He twirled the prop sword, glancing at you.