Work Text:
September 2017
James loathed admitting that, yeah, he was kind of cute in real life. Handsome even.
Just like how he looked in posters and photo cards, he had ever so slightly tanned skin, which looked healthy and natural, and gleaming dark hair that was stylishly long enough for some strands to reach his eyebrows. His eyes were almond-shaped dark grey eyes that were a bit slanted on the edges (which made James remember that he was actually half-Asian), with high cheekbones and shapely jaw. Only, he was admittedly more attractive in real life.
Now James knew why that guy was an international model and a big-time actor at such a young age in Hollywood.
As James observed his features a little further, he noticed the other man’s lips that were full and luscious without being too thick, which he concurred might be natural without any procedure done. He had a straight nose that was a bit smaller and softer than most Caucasians’ nose. It also helped that he was somewhat as tall as himself at 6’4”, probably only an inch or two shorter, with nice body posture and shape; slim and toned without being too muscular.
Maybe Adelaine had a point when she fangirled over him all these years.
Well, not just him particularly, but his old band. Maybe. James didn’t know. He wasn’t really a fan anyway.
If anything, he was kind of annoyed by the band, considering just how much they were shoved at his face regardless of whether he wanted to know about them or not.
Oh, look at them! They’re all musically genius kids! They’re all also teens of color and among the youngest Grammy winners in history. They must be proud to be such amazing musicians representing their communities. Too bad the band broke up, he heard people around him gushed throughout the years.
And oh, did you know? They’re also really smart. The vocalist is in Princeton, the drummer in University of Chicago, and the guitarist in Stanford. The guitarist is also a valedictorian and the student body president in high school and the vocalist is the debate competition winner in state level while the drummer is national physics Olympiad. Also, did you know they all speak several languages? Aren’t they amazing?
Jesus, stop kissing their asses for once.
James was also in Stanford, and no one gushed like that about him, not even his own sister or his parents. No, his sister was always too busy screaming ‘OH MY GOD THE REGIUMS AAAAHHH I LOVE THEM SO MUCH!!!!’
Yeah, he was jealous. So sue him. Adelaine was his sister; she was supposed to look up to him, not people who didn’t even know she existed.
He bet the guy didn’t even remember Adelaine approaching him on his commencement day to ask for a photograph together back in June, abandoning James who was also having his own commencement.
“I just wanna tell you you’re really amazing AJ, you’re so smart and talented and I just want you to know that you are my inspiration!” James remembered Ade saying after taking a selfie with Albert Jay Marcell.
At that time, James was feeling hot, tired, and pissed so he didn’t pay that much attention to that only son of the Marcells.
Yes, that Marcell family, the owner of multi-generation international construction company established in late 19th century, which was now worth over 60 billion dollars worldwide and whose current patriarch, Rooney Roy Marcell, was regularly featured in Forbes.
As if he wasn’t oh-so-perfect enough.
Now, James had to have a photoshoot with him.
Amazing. Just what he wanted.
He wondered whether it was just him who didn’t give a fuck enough about his part-time job as a so-so model, to the point of not knowing this particular gig involved a Milan-fashion-week level model. Or he was blindsided by his agent somehow.
To be fair, he hated his job as a part-time model so he never cared that much, but this was a gig he could not refuse as the pay was phenomenal compared to his other gigs and his other part-time job as a waiter. That should have been enough clue that maybe this was a bigger deal than most gigs his agent had secured for him.
The point was he didn’t know about the Marcell boy. And now James’ eyes were too exhausted to roll again one more time at the photoshoot crew clambering to dote on the famous younger man. So, James stared instead.
I’m betting my ass that it was just because of a bribe, like most rich kids going to Ivy Leagues, he thought to himself when he pondered about how the other man got into Stanford. Or got any of his achievements at all.
There was no way he was that successful without dearest daddy’s money. The Grammys and the Oscar were probably bought by the billionaire family money too.
Oh well, why should James care? He was just here to get that photoshoot and the paycheck then he wouldn’t give a shit about that Marcell guy, just like how he never gave a shit about any of his fellow models, who were mostly just shallow and typical LA airheads.
(Except for when he was in the mood to hook up, which he wasn’t for now.)
So, he endured the make-up session for the photoshoot with ears only half-listening to the conversation and sounds around him.
***
James was convinced that boy was just making a show of how important and busy he was that he was currently talking on the phone in a serious manner while the make-up artists were working on him along with the costume crew. He bet that Marcell guy was just one of those stuck-up arrogant celebrities who always wanted to seem above everyone else.
He sounded so heated on the phone that James was tempted to say to his face, ‘Calm the fuck down, dude. Nobody cares how important you think you are’. Although he ended up holding his tongue, but damn if it didn’t piss him off.
“Yeah look, the meeting has to be tomorrow, as I said. I’ve got another urgent meeting today after the photoshoot, and you know that. No, I can’t,” James heard him say.
James rolled his eyes.
“Oh, for god’s sake. You’re my manager, you’re supposed to be able to handle this. Tell them I can’t today, if they insisted just tell them I’ll drop their offer because you know the meeting with the film exec is more pressing than that.”
Wow, talk about sounding important.
“No—hey, I told you don’t mess with my hair,” the dark-haired man swatted at the makeup artist who was about to cut some of the black strands, “—oh yeah, tomorrow. Period. Tell them it’s final, if they want me in their project, it can’t be today. I already said to them anyway. They’re the ones—didn’t you listen to me about my hair?” the man glared at the hair doer who was trying to snip his hair again.
“—Anyway, they’re the ones who just came in and insisted I prioritize them. Absolutely not. They already lowballed me in the deal, and now they’re trying to—oh my god, stop messing with my hair! Just style it!”
The hair doer now sighed and rolled her eyes, although she put down the scissor anyway. But she clearly felt upset about the limitation that she had to work with now.
“—wait, what was it again? Oh, yeah. The project. They’re trying to undermine me and boss me around now.”
Dear god, how much longer did he have to listen to that? Even the other models waiting for their turn to get photographed were starting to seem annoyed, just like the makeup artist currently handling him.
“Okay? All right, we’ll talk about this again later. I gotta go. The photoshoot is starting.”
Oh, thank fuck.
Surprisingly enough, the Marcell boy was cooperative during the photoshoot and didn’t make too much fuss over the artistic direction from the photographer and art director. He only seemed prickly and particular about his hair (which, James had to admit, looked incredibly lush and beautiful and surely expensive too, so it made sense that he wanted to maintain that).
The photoshoot was eventually halfway done quite smoothly, despite the Marcell boy’s initial discontent regarding his hair and his testiness after his call with his manager.
And then came the second call.
“What? I told you not toda—Annabelle? Oh sorry, sweetheart, I thought you’re my manager. What’s up?”
James didn’t really pay attention this time, at least not until the face turned sour immediately.
To be fair, he wasn’t the only one suddenly perking up at the change in the younger man’s expression. The other models and crew surreptitiously listened in on the call too, so he didn’t feel too guilty for eavesdropping.
“You’re joking,” the Marcell guy said in a noticeably changed tone, almost shaky and shocked.
He then closed his eyes and inhaled sharply.
“But you’re—Anna, you can’t just do this to me.”
Oooh drama. What was it about? The so-called 21st century DaVinci was getting dumped through the phone?
The other models and the crew gave each other silent looks, some of them visibly trying not to grin in amusement. Including James.
Come on, this was premium entertainment, James couldn’t be blamed for relishing it a bit.
“What do you mean you have—” the dark-haired man made another sharp inhale followed by a hand massaging the bridge of his nose, his eyes slightly glassy. “You’ve been lying to me this whole time? Since the beginning? How could you?”
Then he looked around a bit to see everyone subtly staring at him while gulping deeply, which darkened his expression, leading up to him snapping with slightly trembling voice, “What? What are you all looking at?!”
As if on cue, everyone immediately looked away and pretended to busy themselves with whatever they could get their hands on, even though James was sure they were still trying to listen in on the conversation.
The Marcell guy then turned around and said in a lower voice, “God, you’re the worst person in the world, you know that? I hope karma gets to you. I hope you’re left alone on the goddamn altar. Screw you.”
Far cry from the first half of the day, he was now cold and fussy and angry at everyone and everything to the point of the photographer had to end the shoot early with still some background and clothes not yet photographed.
James was no longer amused.
Of course, he would throw tantrums and make everyone’s life difficult. Why wouldn’t he? He was the great Albert Jay Marcell. Everyone had to cater to his whims and his mood.
And to think this was the person his sister idolized.
The art director ended up telling everyone to come back again to the studio the next day to rest a bit before finishing the shoot that hadn’t been done, much to everyone’s chagrin.
As if that wasn’t enough, after James changed into his normal clothes and wiped his make-up clean, he had to face that guy again while getting out of the building.
He was walking towards the glass door of the building, hand shoved in his pocket to take his car keys out, when he saw the Marcell guy again. Only he was angrily struggling to open the door by pushing, even though it clearly said “Pull”. One of these pushes, he was going to break the door instead.
So, James rolled his eyes and rushed to the door.
“Hey, hey, calm down. Here,” he said as he pulled the door for him.
Instead of a thank you, what James got was a sharp indignant glare despite the glassiness in the guy’s eyes with cheeks reddening slightly, then he walked out briskly without saying anything.
What the fuck was wrong with him?
***
The next day, James dispassionately got ready for another day of the photoshoot in his decrepit motel.
He was supposed to drive back to Bay Area after the photoshoot and get some rest, but because of that shithead Marcell, he now had to stay longer in L.A. Hence the sudden stay at this kind of shady motel which he could barely afford.
Still, a job was a job. Besides, it meant that the pay would have to be higher anyway since he and the other models had to do 2 days photoshoot instead of the planned one-day shoot. He didn’t know how the pay worked for Marcell though.
Also, he didn’t care.
So he got ready, checked out, and drove to the studio again.
When he arrived, there were already around half of the crew and the models present, milling around just generally doing their own thing as they all got ready for the work of the day. James walked into the studio and settled over a secluded seating/dining area and put his bag on the table. He decided to browse the web for random things to kill time.
After five minutes or so sitting there, someone suddenly put a cup of beverage in front of him, inviting him to look up.
He was quite surprised to see the Marcell guy again standing there with an unsure face.
“Hi.”
James didn’t respond. He didn’t know what to say anyway.
What was he even doing talking to him?
“I don’t know what drink you like, so I just told the barista to make the recommended drink.”
What?
“An apology drink.”
Oh. So he had manners, huh?
James stared at the plastic cup in front of him, the content obviously brimming with so much cream and sugar that it made him almost shudder. The nausea that he was going to get from that drink alone…
Still, he gingerly reached for the cup and held it as a way to accept the truce.
“As long as it’s not one of those frivolous frappes, I can drink it.”
He heard a small relieved sigh from across him, although the other man still stared at him patiently.
He… he had to drink it, didn’t he?
As the realization dawned on him, he stared at the barely-coffee-mostly-sugar concoction in his hold and gulped, stuck between risking diabetes and puking due to the sheer amount of sugar and cream in the beverage or hurting the other man’s feelings. He could feel the dark-haired man staring at him intently as if waiting for him to drink the beverage before accepting that he was forgiven.
Was he forgiven anyway?
To be quite honest, James didn’t really care that much now, even if he would prefer being home right now instead of in the studio doing another photoshoot. He was offended yesterday, yes, and was quite annoyed, but he wasn’t the kind of person who held grudges.
It was just… the drink was probably disgustingly not to his taste. He was more of an instant coffee plebian who would rather drink it black with only a little sugar. That was the only reason he hesitated to drink it.
But oh well, one cup wasn’t going to kill him.
So he pulled the cup closer to his mouth and started to slurp it a little from the cup’s sippy hole as the other man stared at him.
He winced automatically, although he tried to rein it in once he realized it.
Oh god, that was worse than he thought.
“You don’t like it, do you?”
James couldn’t help feeling guilty at the sad face the other man was wearing.
Oh shit, since when did he care about his teenage sister’s idol?
He sighed before saying, “Look, thank you for the drink and the sentiment. I just prefer my coffee black. That’s all.”
The dark-haired man decided to look down unsurely at the explanation.
“Besides, it’s not just me who you need to apologize to.”
The younger man scratched his head awkwardly as a response, then said, “Yeah. I know. I just remembered you helping me with the door yesterday.” He responded with a hint of red dusting back on his cheeks again.
Huh. James didn’t expect him to remember, to be honest.
“And, uh… I also bought cookies for the whole crew. Though it seems kind of stupid now.”
James wasn’t sure if agreeing was the right course of action, but that was certainly correct. He didn’t know anyone who would forgive being mistreated and forced to work another day, unnecessarily too, with just being given a mere cookie.
“It’s the thought that counts,” he eventually said, trying to be reassuring although he knew it was bullshit.
The other man just slowly bent down to sit solemnly for a while. He then turned his head to look at the surrounding people who mostly just gave him wide berth and thinly veiled irritated looks.
“Look, just…be sincere. Whether they forgive you or not for yesterday, it’s their right. But at least you try.”
The other man still looked unsure while frowning, though he eventually gazed contemplatively at his right side again, where the most of the people were standing.
“Okay.”
He stood up again while slinging his messenger bag to his shoulder as he exhaled.
“Anyway, I didn’t catch your name,” he said while turning around to face James again.
James raised his eyebrows, not expecting someone who acted so grandiose yesterday to care about his name.
“Uh, it’s James.”
Then unexpectedly, the boy smiled slightly and held out a hand.
“Hi, I’m Albert,” he spoke a bit excitedly while still holding out his hand expectantly.
James couldn’t help but stare at the hand dumbfoundedly. Did Albert Jay Marcell really just offer an introduction to him?
After a while though, he saw the palm faltered and the tentative excitement in the younger man’s body seeping out a bit. James felt bad for not responding, so he shook hands despite his confusion. Then something even more unexpected happened.
Albert smiled wider and soft dips appeared on his cheeks.
He had dimples. Fucking dimples.
Oh hell no, James was not crushing on the one and only Albert Jay Marcell. Fuck no.
Yet, despite that train of thought, he couldn’t help his heart leaping when Albert sat down across him again, having finished his series of apologies to the others while distributing the cookies adorably and bashfully, and also after the photoshoot was done to talk about god knows what.
Maybe about why the younger man was acting like a brat yesterday (his now ex-girlfriend turned out to be already engaged to someone else before she started dating Albert, and she just admitted it yesterday).
Or about being fellow Stanford alumni, or about offering to show Albert around Bay Area when he wanted to visit since Als never had a chance to during his college studies because Als was too busy. (‘Als’? Why was he calling him that in his mind? He was just told about the nickname 5 minutes ago.)
Or maybe about Als’ own offer to help James with his application for an engineering internship so that he could quit being a model and he realized how smart Albert actually was.
Good lord.
James was so fucked.
***