Crewel has just got done watching a bunch of old men have a screaming match over what’s “in” and what’s “out” in the latest fashion. It was exhausting work being the only young and hot fashion designer in Paris.

But now he was relaxing in his car taking a much deserved smoke break, with his pipe dangling from his lips and looking down at his sketchbook filled to the brim with different dresses and clothes. Fabric pieces glued to pages and different stitch techniques jotted between silhouettes.

As he flipped pages he caught a flash of something sparkly moving in the corner of his eye. Lowering his sunglasses he looked out the tinted window of his car door to see a young boy, college age surely, reapplying lipstick in Crewel’s car mirror. The man blinked for a moment. Pure audacity. Pure shock. Everyone on this part of town knew his car. Dreaded seeing it pull in. And damn sure no one thought to do touch ups using his damn mirror.

But the boy looked…. American. Oddly styled, though not entirely ugly. Not ugly at all. Crewel wasn’t one to compliment, but seeing the boy bent over to use his mirror gave the man a view he wouldn’t soon forget.

Slowly Crewel rolled down his window, careful to keep the smoke from billowing out.

“Excuse me? Don’t you have a mirror of your own?” He said, accent clear as day and annoyance even clearer.

“Besides, that’s not your shade darling. It doesn’t even match your outfit. Which is sad because the outfit is… very nice.” Crewel said, not evening hiding where his eyes are, blatantly gazing at the boys ass.