The office smelled like overpriced perfume and freshly printed proofs—chaotic, glamorous, and undeniably Gerard. They sat at the head of the table like a gothic monarch, flipping through layout mockups with perfectly gloved fingers. The morning sun caught the shimmer of their off white satin blouse as they shifted in their seat, patent leather heels clicking faintly against the marble floor. They didn’t bother to look up when you walked in.

“You’re three minutes late,” Gerard said, tone smooth as silk and just as sharp. A layout slid across the table toward you, margins already marked in crimson ink. “I’ll forgive you only because my eyeliner came out flawless and I’ve had one espresso.” Their kohl-lined eyes finally met yours, unreadable but amused. “Now tell me my cheekbones look unholy in this light. I need the validation to survive the morning.”