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It's just a week, Seonghwa thought in his hotel room, looking at his boring outfit from the mirror in front of him.
It was Fashion Week, and he was nervous. Last time he had stumbled and fell on the runway. Although Seonghwa made it look like the fall belonged there, it was still embarrassing as hell. Everyone saw it.
Now the theme and the outfits were different. He had only 2 outfits that he would walk with. One was a sharp, structural suit that felt like armor, and the other was a flowy, ethereal piece that made him feel far too exposed.
Seonghwa looked at the time from a clock that sat on the wall. Like there was no hurry to go anywhere. The only thing is that Seonghwa was already late from the clothing check and fitting.
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The venue was like a labyrinth. All around buzzing fluorescent lights, and the scent of expensive hairspray and frantic sweat.
After the clothing fitting, Seonghwa found a quiet-ish corner near a rack of garments that definitely didn't belong to his label. He leaned his head against the cool brick wall, closing his eyes and trying to breathe through the rhythm of his heart drumming against his ribs.
"The seam is off." a sharp, gravelly voice muttered nearby.
Seonghwa opened his eyes. Between two massive garment bags was a man who looked like he’d been living on espresso and pure spite for the last forty-eight hours. He had a measuring tape draped around his neck like a scarf and a pair of scissors tucked into the waistband of his trousers.
Seonghwa looked at the man’s silver-lettered ID badge pinned crookedly to his chest. There was a name ‘Kim Hongjoong’. He wasn't looking at Seonghwa. He was staring intensely at a sleeve on the rack.
"I'm sorry?" Seonghwa asked, his voice coming out softer than usual.
Hongjoong finally looked up. His eyes were sharp, taking in Seonghwa’s 'boring' hotel outfit and then his face with the practiced gaze of a creator. Then, his expression softened.
"The silhouette." Hongjoong said, vaguely referring to the rack before pointing a finger at Seonghwa. "And you. You’re overthinking the walk. I can see your ankles tensing from here.”
Seonghwa blinked, "Is it that obvious?"
"Only to people who are also vibrating with anxiety." Hongjoong offered a small smirk. He stepped out from his hiding spot, the 'Lead Designer' tag catching the light. "I'm Hongjoong. And I just want to say that the fall last year wasn't a disaster. It was a recovery. Most people would have crumbled; you just made the floor look like part of the set.”
Seonghwa felt a strange warmth creep up his neck, and it had nothing to do with the heat of the backstage lights. He looked at Hongjoong.
"You saw that?" Seonghwa asked, his voice barely a whisper. "Most people just posted the clip and laughed at it.”
"I don't look at 'fails.' I look at movement." Hongjoong replied. He stepped closer, his eyes narrowing as he inspected the drape of Seonghwa’s rehearsal jacket. He reached out, his fingers hovering just an inch from Seonghwa’s shoulder before he caught himself and pulled back. "You have a grace that’s hard to teach. It’s a shame you’re walking for them tonight.”
"Is it really that much of a rivalry?" Seonghwa tried to joke, though he knew the answer. In this industry, everyone was a competitor until the after-party. “And do you really want me that much?” Seonghwa added, a little grin on his face.
"To the CEOs? It’s a war.” Hongjoong said, a dry, tired laugh bubbling out of him. "To me? It’s just a tragedy that my best silk is sitting in a box while I have to watch you walk in... whatever that blend is." He gestured to Seonghwa's outfit with a playful grin.
Before Seonghwa could defend his wardrobe, a sharp voice cut through the air.
"Hongjoong! Where are the final adjustments for look twelve?”
Hongjoong sighed, the weight of the entire show crashing back onto his shoulders in an instant. He adjusted the measuring tape around his neck, but he didn't turn away immediately. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, metallic silver pin; a tiny, minimalist star.
He reached forward and, with a precision that comes from years of working under pressure, pinned it to the inside of Seonghwa’s sleeve, hidden from everyone but the wearer.
"A lucky charm." Hongjoong murmured, his gaze flicking up to Seonghwa’s eyes. "From the enemy camp. Don’t let them see it, or we’ll both be out of a job before the finale."
"Why give it to me?" Seonghwa asked, his heart doing a different kind of flips now. “If you know it’s a risk, why risk it? Do you really trust me that much?”
"Because…" Hongjoong said, backing away into the shadows of the garment racks as his name was called again. "I want to see if you can make a star move as well as you make the floor look good. Don't trip, Seonghwa. I trust you.”
And then, with a flutter of fabric and the scent of sandalwood, he was gone, leaving Seonghwa standing in the hallway with a hidden piece of silver against his wrist and a sudden, sharp desire to be the best thing on that runway.
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The five-minute warning echoed through the backstage speakers, a sharp contrast to the low, rhythmic thumping of the bass bleeding through the walls.
Seonghwa stood in the lineup, his spine rigid. He was wearing the structural suit now. The dresser gave his lapels one last aggressive tug, and the hair stylist spritzed a final, suffocating cloud of spray over his forehead.
But it wasn't the hair Seonghwa was thinking about. He was thinking about the tiny, cold weight of the silver star pressed against his inner wrist.
"Look four, go! Look five, prep!" the stage manager ordered.
Seonghwa stepped forward, his heart drumming like in a rock concert. He reached the heavy velvet curtain. This was where he usually let the fear of his last fall swallow him. But as he adjusted his grip on his sleeve, his thumb brushed the pin.
Don’t trip, Seonghwa.
"Look six... go.”
Seonghwa stepped into the light.
Usually, Seonghwa’s internal monologue was a frantic loop of left, right, shoulders down, don't trip, keep your eyes on the exit.
Tonight it was different. He felt the star bite slightly into his skin with every move of his arm. It was a grounding touch. He wasn't walking for the judges, the cameras, or his demanding CEO. He was walking to prove that the little mistakes were better than perfection. They were more human.
He reached the end of the catwalk. He paused, the cameras clicking. Instead of the usual cold mask he wore, there was a flicker of something sharper in his eyes; a challenge. A little smile only on his eyes.
Then. He saw him.
Hongjoong was there, half in shadow, his arms crossed over his chest. He wasn't looking at the suit. He was looking directly at Seonghwa’s face. For a split second, the world narrowed down to that single point of contact. Hongjoong didn't smile, but he nodded. A tiny, almost invisible movement that said I see you.
The moment he was back in the safe zone of the dim hallway, the adrenaline hit him like a physical punch. His dresser was already unzipping him, moving with frantic speed to get him into the second outfit, the ethereal, flowy piece.
"That was perfect, Seonghwa! Best walk of the season!" the assistant praised, tossing the black jacket onto a rack.
Seonghwa’s hand immediately went to his bare wrist. The jacket, and the pin.
"Wait!" Seonghwa called out, reaching for the jacket.
"No time! You’re on in four minutes for the finale!”
He watched the black suit disappear into the sea of identical clothing pieces. His lucky charm was gone, and he was suddenly standing there in nothing but thin silk trousers, feeling more exposed than ever. He looked around desperately, hoping to see a flash of that specific black haired designer with a measuring tape scarf, but the designer's section was a war zone of its own.
He had to get that pin back. Or better yet, he had to find the man who gave it to him.
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The air backstage was thick with the smell of hairspray and the frantic energy of a ticking clock. Seonghwa stood in his second look. A sheer, iridescent silk shirt that moved like water and ivory trousers. But he felt completely unanchored.
"I need the jacket." he muttered to a dresser who was already moving on to the next model. "The black one. Just for a second.”
"It’s gone to the steamer, Seonghwa! Focus! You’re on in ninety seconds!”
He felt his breath hitch. Without that tiny star hidden in his sleeve, he felt like the clumsy version of himself again. He looked at his reflection in a tilted full-length mirror and saw a stranger looking back, someone fragile.
Suddenly, a hand caught his elbow and pulled him into the narrow, dark gap between two massive equipment trunks.
It was Hongjoong. He looked even more disheveled than before. His tie was undone, and his sleeves were rolled up.
"Hey." Hongjoong said, his voice low and commanding, cutting through the noise. "Look at me. Stop looking for the pin.” he calms the other.
"Hongjoong, I– they took the jacket. I don't have it. I'm going to mess up the flow of this fabric, I know it–” Seonghwa was in the middle of panic. Hongjoong beside him trying to get the other’s breathing together.
"Seonghwa, listen to me." Hongjoong stepped into his space, placing both hands firmly on Seonghwa’s shoulders. The weight was grounding. "The pin didn't walk that runway. You did. The pin didn't catch the light or hold the gaze of every photographer in that room. That was all you.”
Seonghwa shook his head, his chest heaving. "It was that lucky charm. I felt... I felt like I couldn't trip as long as it was there… but now it's not…”
"Then let me be the charm." Hongjoong offered, his thumb brushing against the silk of Seonghwa’s shoulder. "I’m going out there. I’m going to be in the third row, right by the turn. If you feel like you’re losing your balance, you look for me. Not a piece of metal, okay? Just me.”
The stage manager’s voice cut through: “Look six, to the line, now! It's your turn in 15.”
Hongjoong gave his shoulders a final, supportive squeeze. "You’re the most beautiful thing in this building, and you’re not even wearing my clothes yet. Go show them why.”
“Okay… But you better be back here when I come back. After this round, I’m done for the day and we need to talk.” Seonghwa said nodding, while heading to the line.
Seonghwa turned to look at Hongjoong one last time, but he was gone already.
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Hongjoong didn't return to his own company's chaotic section. Instead, he slipped through a side exit, used his ‘Lead Designer’ credentials to bypass the confused doorman, and slipped into the dark main hall.
The music had changed to something melodic, sweeping, and cinematic.
Hongjoong found a space near the edge of the VIP section, leaning against a pillar just as the lights dimmed and then flared into a soft blue.
Then, Seonghwa appeared.
He didn't look like the panicked man from the backstage. In the flowy, shimmering silk, he looked like a god of the tide. Every step was deliberate, the fabric trailing on him like a physical manifestation of his own grace.
When Seonghwa reached the turn, his eyes didn't hunt for the cameras. They scanned the crowd for a split second until they landed on a familiar silhouette leaning against a pillar.
Hongjoong didn't move. He just watched, a small, proud smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Seonghwa didn't trip. He didn't stumble. He performed a turn so seamless it drew an audible breath from the fashion critics in the front row. As he walked back toward the curtain, his gaze stayed on Hongjoong until the very last moment, the connection between them hummed louder than the music.
Hongjoong let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. He had a show of his own to finish, but for that one minute, the rivalry didn't matter.
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The adrenaline was still humming under Seonghwa’s skin when he stepped off the platform and back into the dimness. He didn't even wait for his dresser this time; he scanned the shadows until he saw a familiar figure waiting near the equipment boxes.
Hongjoong didn’t say a word at first. He just leaned against one of the tables, his eyes tracing the way the fabric caught the stray light. He looked satisfied, like an artist seeing a vision finally come to life, even if he wasn’t the one who had sewn it together.
"You were steady," Hongjoong said, his voice a low vibration beneath the muffled finale music. "Better than steady. You were the only thing in that room worth looking at.”
Seonghwa let out a shaky breath, the tension finally leaving his shoulders. He stepped closer, ignoring the frantic movement of other models rushing past them. "I saw you. By the pillar. I don't think I would have made the turn so cleanly if I hadn't.”
He paused, looking down at the designer. "Why are you doing this, Hongjoong? You’re the lead for a rival house. You should be back in your own dressing room, making sure your show is perfect. Not... helping a model from the 'enemy camp' find his footing.”
Hongjoong let out a small laugh, looking down at his own ink-stained fingers before meeting Seonghwa’s gaze again.
"You think this is just some professional courtesy?" Hongjoong asked. He took a half-step forward, closing the gap until Seonghwa could smell the faint scent of coffee and expensive leather clinging to him. "Seonghwa, I’ve been watching you since your debut in that underground show in Seoul. The one where you wore the oversized grey wool and walked like you owned the entire city block.”
Seonghwa blinked, stunned, even confused. "That was four years ago. I was... I was nobody then. I barely knew how to hold my head up.”
"Maybe to everyone else," Hongjoong countered, his expression turning serious, almost soft. "But to me? You were the first model I ever saw who actually understood the clothes. You didn't just wear them; you gave them a pulse. I’ve followed every campaign, every runway. When you fell last year... I didn't see a 'fail’. I saw a brilliant performer who was being let down by a house that didn't know how to highlight his strengths.”
He reached out, his hand near Seonghwa’s arm before he settled for a light, grounding touch on his wrist; right where the pin had been.
"I didn't help you tonight because I’m a 'nice guy'." Hongjoong admitted with a wry smirk. "I helped you because I’ve been a fan of yours for a long time. And because it physically hurts me to see a talent like yours get stuck in his own head. I want the world to see what I see."
Seonghwa felt a different kind of dizziness now, one that had nothing to do with the runway lights. To be seen so clearly by someone like Hongjoong was more intoxicating than the applause.
"A fan?" Seonghwa echoed, a shy smile finally breaking through his professional mask. "I thought you were just a perfectionist."
"I am a perfectionist." Hongjoong whispered, his gaze dropping to Seonghwa’s lips for a split second before snapping back to his eyes. "That’s why I can’t look away from you.”
Seonghwa looked down at Hongjoong, and for the first time, he didn't feel like a model waiting for a cue. He felt like a man who finally knew exactly what he wanted.
Seonghwa took a step forward, into Hongjoong’s personal space. The silk of his shirt brushed against Hongjoong’s plain cotton sleeves. He didn't wait for permission; he reached out, his long fingers curling firmly around Hongjoong’s waist to pull him closer, while his other hand found the back of Hongjoong’s neck.
Seonghwa tilted his head, his gaze dropping to Hongjoong’s lips before he pressed his own against them. A kiss that meant so much more for both of them.
"Seonghwa.” Hongjoong managed to whisper after, his hands coming up to rest tentatively on Seonghwa’s chest. He could feel the model's heart racing, but Seonghwa’s grip was steady, almost possessive. “We’re still in the venue. There are... there are press members everywhere. What if a photographer catches us…”
Hongjoong’s eyes darted toward the gaps in the equipment crates, his professional instincts screaming. A scandal like this, the lead designer of one house and the star model of another, it could be a wildfire.
Seonghwa didn't pull away. Instead, he leaned in until their foreheads touched, his thumb tracing the sensitive skin behind Hongjoong’s ear. A small, confident smirk played on his lips.
"Let them look." Seonghwa murmured, his voice dropping into a deeper, silky register that sent a shiver down Hongjoong’s spine. “The photographers are on my side anyway. I know exactly which angles they’re looking for, and I know how to make sure they only see what I want them to see.”
Before Hongjoong could fully process the confidence in that statement, he nodded and Seonghwa tilted his head and closed the distance again.
The kiss wasn't hesitant. It was firm, a claim being staked after years of admiring each other from opposite sides of a runway. Seonghwa’s hand at the back of Hongjoong’s neck tightened just slightly, pulling him against him, while his other hand remained anchored at Hongjoong’s waist.
Hongjoong gasped into the kiss, melting into the heat of the moment. He stopped worrying about the cameras, the rivalries, and the "Lead Designer" tag pinned to his chest. He reached up, his fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of Seonghwa’s neck, finally letting the "fan" side of him take over.
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Two days later, things were different now. Hongjoong was a whirlwind of frantic motion. This was his "Reform" collection; denim, heavy chains, and silks that looked like they had been dipped in liquid moonlight. But forty minutes before the lights were set to go up, the heart of the show stopped beating.
"What do you mean he’s out?" Hongjoong’s voice was dangerously low, vibrating with a mix of exhaustion, fury, and rising panic.
"Ankle, Hongjoong-ah. He tripped on a cable during the final rehearsal." his assistant whispered, pointing toward the lead model who was currently being iced by a medic. "He can't put weight on it. He can't do this show.”
Hongjoong ran a hand through his freshly dyed red hair, gripping the strands. Look Fifteen was the centerpiece. It was the garment that tied the entire narrative of the collection together. Without it, the show was a book with the climax ripped out.
"I can't cut the look." Hongjoong muttered, pacing the small square of concrete. "The silhouette is too specific. I don't have anyone else with the height or the–"
"I heard there was a crisis." The voice was smooth, grounded, and entirely out of place in this dressing room. Hongjoong spun around.
Seonghwa was standing there, leaning against a garment rack. He wasn't in his model uniform tonight; he was wearing an oversized leather jacket and dark slacks, looking every bit the high-fashion spectator he was supposed to be.
"Seonghwa? You shouldn't be back here." Hongjoong breathed, his heart doing a double-take. "If your manager finds out you're at a rival's backstage–”
"My manager thinks I’m at a quiet dinner." Seonghwa said, stepping into the light. He took in the chaos, his eyes landing on the shimmering, deconstructed suit hanging on the 'Look Fifteen' rack. He walked over to it, running a thumb over the fabric. "This is the one, isn't it? The piece you told me about.”
"It's the heart of the show." Hongjoong admitted. "Or was. Right now, it's just a very expensive ghost. I don't have a lead.”
"Yes, you do." Seonghwa said confidently.
Hongjoong blinked. "No. No, Seonghwa, you can't. Your contract is exclusive for this week. If you walk for me, your agency will have your head. It’s a–”
"Let them talk.” Seonghwa interrupted, stepping closer until he was standing directly in Hongjoong’s space, forcing the shorter man to look up. He reached out, his hand steady as he tucked a loose strand of hair behind Hongjoong’s ear. "I told you, didn't I? The photographers are on my side. By the time the agencies realize what’s happened, the photos will already be the most talked-about thing in the industry. They won't fire their biggest star for making them the center of the world. Also fuck the contract. It’s just a piece of paper.”
"You'd do that? For my show? Even though they might not hire you again after this…?" Hongjoong whispered.
Seonghwa’s smirk was sharp, his hand moving from Hongjoong’s hair to grip the back of his neck, pulling him closer.
"I’m not doing it for the show, Hongjoong. I’m doing it for the designer." Seonghwa murmured, his thumb tracing the line of Hongjoong’s jaw. "Now, stop spiraling and get me into that suit. We have a runway to set on fire.”
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"Hold still." Hongjoong murmured, though his own hands were the ones failing. He reached up to fasten a complex series of leather straps across Seonghwa’s chest.
Seonghwa looked down at the top of Hongjoong’s head, a faint, knowing smile playing on his lips. As Hongjoong leaned in to tighten a buckle near Seonghwa’s collarbone, Seonghwa took a deliberate step forward, forcing Hongjoong to back up against a rack of clothes.
"You're breathing very fast, Designer Kim." Seonghwa teased, his voice low.
"I'm on a deadline." Hongjoong said, his face flushing a deep crimson as he struggled with a stubborn silver pin. "And you’re... you're very distracting, Model Park.”
Seonghwa reached down, his large hand gently covering Hongjoong’s busy fingers, stopping his work. He guided Hongjoong’s hand away from the fabric and held it against his own chest, right over his heart.
"The show doesn't start for another fifteen minutes." Seonghwa whispered. He leaned down. "Surely the genius designer can spare two of them for his lead model.”
Hongjoong looked up, caught between professional panic and the magnetic pull of the man in front of him. "Seonghwa, if someone walks in–"
"They’ll see a designer checking the fit of his most important piece." Seonghwa interrupted. He tilted his head, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to the corner of Hongjoong’s eye, then another to the bridge of his nose. Then third on his neck under his ear, which made Hongjoong smirk.
Hongjoong let out a breath, his eyes fluttering shut. The bravado he usually carried as a designer felt like it was melting away. "You're terrible." he breathed, even as he reached up to grab the lapels of Seonghwa’s jacket, pulling him closer for a kiss.
"Naah, I'm your favorite." Seonghwa corrected, whispering against Hongjoong's lips. He pressed tiny kisses along Hongjoong’s jawline, moving slowly to the neck that made Hongjoong’s head tilt back and let out a breath.
Seonghwa kept kissing him, and the closer he got to the soft spot, the more he could hear Hongjoong’s little gasps.
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Just as Seonghwa’s lips finally brushed against Hongjoong’s in a proper, lingering kiss, a muffled shout from the stage manager cut through the door: "Five minutes to places! Look Fifteen, status check!”
Hongjoong jumped, his eyes snapping open. He scrambled to finish the last buckle. "See? I told you! We're going to get caught, and the headline won't be about my clothes, it'll be about–"
Seonghwa caught Hongjoong’s chin, forcing him to look up one last time. He gave him a quick, firm peck on the lips; a final seal of the moment.
"The headline," Seonghwa said, his eyes sparking with that dominant, effortless grace, "is going to be about how the best designer in the world finally found his perfect muse. Now, give me my shoes. I have a riot to start.”
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The warehouse was vibrating. Even backstage, the sound of the bass from the finale music was a physical force, rattling the metal clothing racks. But as the last of the models filed back in, shedding their heavy layers and breathless from the adrenaline, the atmosphere was different than any show Hongjoong had ever run.
Usually, there was a sense of relief. Tonight, there was a sense of shock. The whispers were already starting: "Was that really Park Seonghwa?" "How did Hongjoong pull that off?" "Their agencies are going to lose it.”
Hongjoong didn't care about the agencies. He was standing by the heavy velvet curtain that separated the chaos from the quiet, his hands tucked into his pockets to hide the fact that they were still shaking.
Then, the curtain pushed aside.
Seonghwa stepped through, still draped in the outfit. He was glowing, literally sweating under the lights, and his hair was artfully messy. He looked less like a model and more like a king returning from a conquest.
"You did it." Hongjoong breathed as Seonghwa reached him. The designer felt small in the shadow of the outfit, but Seonghwa immediately closed the gap, crowding Hongjoong back into the quiet corner.
"Correction." Seonghwa said, "we did it. Did you hear them? They stopped breathing when I hit the turn."
"I think the entire fashion world stopped breathing," Hongjoong laughed nervously, looking up at him. "Seonghwa, my phone is already vibrating in my pocket. I think my PR lead is having a heart attack. You really just declared war on your own agency for me.”
"Let them have their heart attacks.” Seonghwa murmured. He leaned down, his face inches from Hongjoong’s. "I told you, didn't I? I’m the best thing they have. They’ll grumble, and then they’ll realize that being the talk of the week is better than being 'exclusive.' Besides…”
He used his free hand to catch Hongjoong’s chin, tilting it up.
"I think I like being your secret weapon much more than being their perfect soldier.”
Hongjoong’s breath hitched. He felt that familiar heat rising to his cheeks, the shyness he only ever felt when Seonghwa looked at him like he was the only person in the room. "You’re going to be the death of my professional reputation." Hongjoong whispered smirking, though he was already leaning into the touch.
"No." Seonghwa countered, dropping his voice to a whisper against his skin. "I’m going to be the reason everyone remembers this collection for the next ten years. Now... are you going to take me to that after-party, or do we need to hide in your studio until the dust settles?"
Hongjoong smiled, finally relaxing as he gripped the front of Seonghwa’s jacket. "My studio has better wine. And no cameras."
"Perfect." Seonghwa smirked, stealing one last quick kiss. "Lead the way, Captain.”
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The studio was a sanctuary of controlled chaos. The moment the heavy steel door clicked shut, the frantic energy of Fashion Week felt like it belonged to a different lifetime.
The shy, flustered designer from the backstage was gone. He didn't look tired anymore; he looked like a king reclaiming his throne.
Hongjoong walked toward Seonghwa, his eyes scanning the model with a professional, piercing intensity. He didn't stop until he was inches away.
“At the hall, you were the lead.” Hongjoong said and reached to grab Seonghwa’s shirt collar and pulled him down a little for a kiss. “But this is my studio, and I lead here. You are my canvas and I’m not ready with you yet. I’m not ready with you until we have lived together for at least 50 years.”
“Sounds good, Captain.” Seonghwa whispered with a smirk.
"Sit.” Hongjoong commanded, gesturing toward a worn leather armchair tucked between two mannequins. And that's what Seonghwa did.
Hongjoong went to the little kitchen, and came back with 2 wine glasses and a bottle of wine. He poured some for Seonghwa and gave the glass to him. The rest he left on the side table, and took facepaint and a thin brush.
“Don't you take yourself?” Seonghwa asked, sipping his wine, then he smirked, “I might think you're trying to poison me.”
That made Hongjoong chuckle a little. He took the glass from the other's hands and sipped from it. That made Seonghwa chuckle.
As he gave Seonghwa the glass back, he sat on his lap facing the other. With the facepaint, he started painting a star on Seonghwa’s cheek bone, trying to make it look like the pin from the first day.
Seonghwa looked at focused Hongjoong, wishing that this moment was forever. They didn’t care about their phones buzzing on the table. They turned them off and focused on each other.
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“When does your contract end? Have you thought about switching labels?” Hongjoong asked, trying to find an empty spot on Seonghwa’s face that was covered with facepaint.
“They wanted to keep me for another year, but I declined. After this week is done, I’m free. I thought of taking a break. But after my show, and your show… this feels right. Working with you, I mean.” Seonghwa said, stroking Hongjoong's side. “But, I wanna be the back up model, for now.”
Hongjoong nodded. He understood the other. “Okay. Let's make you the back up model then.” he smiled.