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If you ask Kim Roksu whether or not he envisioned a future like this ten years ago, the clear answer is no. After all, it's quite a hassle to have to freeze the same damn smile for ten minutes. alas, this is the choice he made. Being a model makes a lot of money, even if he was sorely scammed when his mentor told him that it's just a job that constitutes faking a grin here and there.
The model 'Cale Henituse' is a household name in the fashion industry. from walking fashion shows for designer brands to being on the forefront of high-end magazines, his face has been there and it's practically plastered everywhere: on the billboard in front of a ten-floor building or on LCD screens in convenience stores, for diamond-studded watches or for the nation's favorite toothpaste. In his years of career, Cale has worked with people of various cultural and socioeconomic backgrounds, traded fake smiles and real handshakes.
And yet, there's only been one person so far that unsettles his heart in a peculiar manner he can't seem to understand.
Alver Crossman.
They arrived on set before the crack of dawn and it's only by five thirty a.m. rolls around, sun rising outside the venue they're in, that the shoot itself starts. The morning sun heats up the early spring air, casting a warm shade on his co-worker's face. Cale's heart thumps at the ethereal sight: dyed blonde hair that glitters like gold under the sunlight, porcelain skin complementing the white outfit he's wearing, the way his eyes curve into crescents as Alver smiles, casting a shadow of his long lashes onto pale cheekbones.
Fuck, this bastard is as radiant as ever.
"What are you looking at, Cale?"
"Cale-ssi! can you please tilt your head a little closer to Alver-ssi's face?"
The words resound at the same time, snapping Cale's focus back to reality. He doesn't respond to Alver's question, instead angling his neck just as the photographer asked, hearing her OK and shutters of camera flashing afterwards.
"Cale," Alver attempts again. his lips are curled in the same infuriatingly attractive smile, rosy with lip tint applied just moments before. Child actor turned top idol Alver Crossman has always been famous for this — his majestic smile that seems to hold a lot of secrets. It's no surprise, really, that these good looks helped catapult his fame into national idol territory. No one expected the vast improvement he exhibited, despite the fact that he finished as third rank in a survival show that garnered worldwide attention. When the plans for a group fell over due to agency failings, his solo debut came through with a slow and sexy RnB track. It's enough to make even housewives and military men blush in their shoes, the crooning voice and the lidded eyes, breathy whispers and dance moves that smoothly flow as a river does. From then on, it was comeback stage after comeback stage, album after album. various promotions and variety shows, even overseas invites and concert tours. When their paths first coincided, a few years back during Rowoon Fashion Week, Cale hadn't known what to think of the guy.
"It's nothing," Cale finally replies, expressions changing to answer the photographer's commands in the background. It comes out embarrassingly raspy. From the peripherals of his vision, he can spy Alver's lips twitching minutely before they settle. A smoldering gaze takes their place instead — as professional as ever, top idol Alver Crossman doesn’t get distracted even for a millimoment, paying heed to the woman behind the camera complimenting them and commanding them for a change of pose.
Of course, as one of Rowoon's most famous commercial film star, Cale Henituse does not lose out as well, adjusting easily without Alver's prompting. The duo reposition themselves, shoulders touching this time as they lean away from each other. Cale keeps his gaze trained on the camera diligently — and still manages to catch Alver angling his head thirty degrees tilted to enunciate sexiness as his tongue runs over his lower lip.
He snorts.
"...Hoobae-nim," Alver warns. The blond's face contorts to a smile as another flash of the camera surrounds the room.
"Yes, Sunbae-nim."
"What are you looking at now, huh?" Punk. The curse in Alver's tone is unheard but heavily implied.
"Nothing, Sunbae-nim," Cale brightens, "Just that you exude so much mature charms, I am certain your beloved fans would be buying millions of copies of the magazine."
The slightest grimace overtakes Alver's face for less than a second, though Cale obviously does not miss the spectacle.
Free entertainment, baby.
It's always worth it to oil up his glib tongue really well whenever they meet in a schedule like this. Alver is truly an interesting character, an all-star in singing, dancing, acting, modeling and even composing. Someone with admirable variety and comedy sense and great personality. At times, it's almost inhuman how close to perfect the nation's top idol could be. And yet, he always loses his composure the moment Cale spits out praises and compliments — wouldn't one normally be at loss when they're dissed or something? Plus, Alver's previous career as a child actor should've given him a rooted sense of understanding of fame and spotlight. It never ceases to amaze Cale how odd this person is.
Only sheer willpower and his years of keeping a poker face — trained before and after the genesis of his modeling career — are able to aid him in taming the cheeky smirk that threatens to curl on his lips.
And if his heart squeezes a little at the sight of Alver quickly rolling his eyes, it's no one else's business but his own.
The shoot goes largely uninterrupted and soon, it's time to change sets and themes. Earlier, they were indoors: a large European-style building with huge windows, the sides adorned beautifully with stained glass in the shape of floral art of various colors and shapes. The concept theme for this edition of the magazine is something about angels — and seeing as it's the anniversary cover of a high-end magazine anyway, the management squeezed their budget dry for both the place setting and the models they're hiring to complete the look.
By the time eight a.m. hits, it's a lot brighter outside already. The creative director ushers the crew outside this time, to the lush gardens found in the backyard of the building. It's a huge maze with gorgeously trimmed bushes and white roses lining stone-paved pathways as it twists and turns and draws explorers deeper and deeper within the well-cared labyrinth.
"This time, please go for a more… sensual look," A crew member instructs, while waiting on the stylists to touch up and change their makeup slightly. By the eyeshadow palettes laid out in front of them, Cale can only guess they're intensifying the look quite a lot. Alver would be fine with his distractingly pretty cerulean eyes — but Cale's hazel ones are to be covered up by sharper green lenses. Something about increasing the angel vibes.
He hears Alver's comment by his side, "More sensual than earlier? Got it."
The redhead nods along his assent, "Sure."
Truthfully, Cale wonders if it isn't too dangerous asking this pretty bastard for something like that — would it not straight-up be raunchy and cringe? But well. Even if it's lame, Alver would still pull it off anyway. The annoying perks and privileges of handsome bastards.
With a couple of hands on deck, the touch up is finished sooner rather than later. They shuffle the two models into another set of clothing, matching still. This time, it's a combination of an unbuttoned silk navy shirt for Alver — and how is this shoot for a fashion magazine, really, where is the fashion? — and a black see-through shirt for Cale.
Seriously? This whole sensual angel ethereal sex demon concept is so weird. The next thing they'd do is probably slap a calendar under the pictures. It'd sell better than most third-rate idol group merchs.
They're given a few more instructions this time about the pose and soon, the photographer goes back to barking orders upon orders as the camera clicks and goes off continuously.
It's only early spring and noon has yet to descend upon the crew. Still, Cale can already feel the urge to sweat, being sensitive to heat more than anyone else.
His modeling mentor — a former supermodel famed for his youthful visuals even in his older years, well-known for his epithet, the God of Death, as he is said to be able to kill people with his looks only — once taught him a trick on how to not sweat even during the hottest summer days. Naturally, tricks are meant to be perfectly executed by entertainers. To a high-class model like him, this kind of thing is no different than a magician's well-practiced sleight of hand.
As per the previously discussed directions, Cale keeps his eyes lidded and throws his head back, exposing his slender neck. A hand comes up to touch his face, framing his now green eyes and increasing the overall dainty beauty aspect of the look.
He'd been zoned in, so focused in playing the perfect poses and creating clean lines for the camera that he almost forgets this is no solo shot.
It's only then a touch to his waist startles him out of his reverie.
Cale can't suppress the flinch it gets out of him when he feels Alver's arm snaking around his midriff. The blond pulls him close, his lips curling into the same secretive smile the nation fell for him for all those years ago. His stare is coy, straight onto the camera, face mere centimeters away from Cale's.
Another flash and click of the camera rings as the crewmembers fall into a hush, equally as surprised as Cale feels.
"Shocked?" Alver's clear eyes peer into his.
If they were close before, this is way worse. In this distance, Cale can clearly count each goddamn individual eyelash on Alver's eyes.
The feel of Alver's breath against Cale's face.
A sensation of heat creeps down his neck — the kind of warmth Cale seriously wants to ignore, yet cannot deny.
This.
This will be a long work day.