Chapter Text
Anyone who knows Yuuji is familiar with his love for wrestling. His passion for the feeling of his heart beating underneath his ribs and adrenaline pumping through his veins. The fluorescent lights above him are bright, outlining each ripple of muscle in his opponent, every impassioned face from the crowd. Yuuji stalks around the ring, eyes locked on his opponent. Choso is stretched out along the wires of the ring with his gaze fully honed in on him. He’s exhausted, beginning to take deep, heavy breaths. Choso’s gaze is heavy, but he doesn’t move. Yuuji can’t decide whether that’s because he’s too tired to, or because he’s thinking up a plan. He doesn’t want to wait to find out. Rivulets of blood trickle down his forehead as he tightens his grip on the ropes. Yuuji takes note of the distance. Not good.
If there was anything Choso was known for, it was fighting long distance, and it was fighting dirty. If he wanted to win a match, he would. Yuuji spent hours upon hours studying his videos, and had practically ingrained the way Choso would lift his opponents onto his shoulders before launching them into the crowd like mini rocketships.
Yuuji launches himself across the ring, closing the distance between him and Choso. Choso grunts as he’s fully slammed against the wires. Yuuji hugs him around the midsection to try and lift him off the ground to no avail. Choso takes advantage of the opportunity and kicks him off with his knee. Yuuji goes flying into the mat with Choso chasing after him with a victorious yell.
They roll on the ground, tussling and exchanging blow after blow until Choso has him in a brutal headlock. His grip’s like a boa constrictor’s–if you don’t get it off in time you’re finished. Choso tightens his grip and Yuuji feels his blood pressure skyrocket. It feels as if his eyes are ready to pop right out of his skull.
The energy within the stadium is about to burst. Yuuji can’t hear above the blood rushing in his ears. His hands scramble to loosen Choso’s vice grip. Vaguely, he can feel the vibrations of the referee slamming his hand down on the mat. Yuuji feels a twinge of irritation. f*ck that. Shifting his weight, he flips Choso onto the mat and boom, down he goes. The volume in the stadium shifts into a deafening roar. Blood pumping with adrenaline and not a second to waste, Yuuji heaves Choso up and over his shoulders, letting him dangle before slamming him down on the mat with another deafening boom. He immediately moves to hold him down with his weight.
Choso struggles to escape his hold, kicking out from underneath him and clawing at his arms. He curses, looking back as the clock seems to tick faster and faster. Yuuji shoves more weight onto the foot that’s holding him and—
“Hold him, hold him–It’s over!” Choso is out. Hysterical screams ring out from the crowd just as the telltale dingdingding of the bell sounds throughout the stadium. Yuuji immediately stands and absolutely revels in his victory, yelling as loud as he can.
“Finished him off with a f*cking Jackhammer!”
The referee steals Yuuji’s attention by grabbing his hand and forcing it up into the air. The crowd goes absolutely nuts. Yuuji has the fleeting thought that he’d be able to live off of this feeling for the rest of his life. He grants the cameras one big grin as he’s led back out of the stadium by his coach and manager.
Someone from the audience reaches out and grabs ahold of him. “Itadori Yuuji,” he shakes him by the shoulders, “You are a f*ckin’ beast, man.”
Christ. Yuuji flops down on the bed. That was a bit of a close call.
After matches, Yuuji’s usually left to his own devices in his room before he’s pulled out again for an interview. Sometimes, Nanami likes to come in and discuss scheduling, training, and interviews. Now is one of those times.
“Yuuji,” Nanami pops his head through the door, “You have an interview coming up in ten minutes. There’s a peace period in between for you to calm down. You have time before you go back out there and talk in front of a camera.”
Yuuji just nods, too busy collecting his breath after the rough match. His clothes are overwhelmingly sticky. His hands itch to tug them off.
“How was the match?” Nanami asks, sitting away from him on one of the comfy chairs next to the TV.
“Good,” Yuuji pants out. He wipes some sweat off his forehead before continuing, “Choso was a strong opponent. What was his nickname again? Dead Painted Womb?”
“Death Painting Womb,” Nanami corrects, “You could say Painted Womb, yes, but I heard he was part of a group. It’s best to stick with what you know.”
Yuuji laughs. The air conditioning hums in the background, and he looks around the fancy place he’s staying in. “This place is pretty fancy,” he notes. Nanami simply nods.
Yuuji looks back at him. “You said there was an interview coming up?”
Nanami nods again, and directs his attention to the clock. “You have five minutes to get ready. I’ll leave you to your own devices, but make sure to keep track of time. I can set an alarm up for you,” he offers. Yuuji shakes his head no.
“I’ll be fine, thank you sir.” With that, Nanami quietly takes his leave through the door and Yuuji’s left all to himself and the quiet hum of the air conditioning.
For the remaining five minutes, Yuuji spends his time trying to wipe as much sweat off his body as possible. He dabs a cool, damp towel on the back of his neck and allows himself to cool down and rest.
Yuuji sits down on the bed with a sigh, allowing himself to look around the room. He noticed it earlier, but they’re keeping him in quite the nice place. It’s like a hotel room, but fancier. He has his own big bed, with a wide TV that’s practically flattened to the wall. There aren’t any windows, for privacy reasons, but the big bathroom easily makes up for it. The tub even has jets, Yuuji notes.
He paces around the bathroom, taking note of everything. There’s a large, full body mirror, and it gives him a not-so-lovely view of himself. He’s practically a sweat monster. Jesus. Waltzing back into the main room, Yuuji nabs one of his loose basketball tanktops from his bag and drapes that over his body. That kind of makes up for things.
Although Yuuji loves practically everything about working out, the only thing he really hates is sweat. God, Yuuji despises sweat. He hates the look of it, and the feeling of it soaking through his clothes. He hates how his clothes stick to him while he’s sweating. He hates sweating. He hates sweat, no shame about it. He’s sure everyone does. Sweat also makes people look ugly. It makes people take on this shiny glean that makes their body hairs curl or shine in the sun. It’s disgusting. He hates sweat. The one thing he hates about sweat the most, though, is the smell.
Oh crap.
Yuuji sniffs.
I probably smell like sh*t. Yuuji bends down and takes a cautious sniff of his armpit.
My God. Yuuji tears his deodorant out of his bag and works on applying maybe a few hundred layers onto his armpits. Who cares about that weird tingly feeling he always gets when he puts on his deodorant? Or the fact that if he puts on too much for too many days at a time, it starts to sting?
His passionate process of reapplying deodorant is interrupted by Nanami peeking his head through the door once again. “Your five minutes are up. Let’s go,” He orders. Yuuji nods. Nanami doesn’t joke about time, so if his five minutes are up, there’s no arguing for extra.
“Yes sir,” Yuuji rushes to gather his bag and things before rushing out of the door after his manager.
“They’re going to ask you how you felt during the match, if there were any moments where you might have doubted yourself, and how you felt after you won. That’s mostly it, but if you need any help, I’ll be right over your shoulder,” Nanami reminds him. With Yuuji, he’s always been gentle in his own way. To others, his personality could have been read as bossy or controlling, but Yuuji likes the dynamic they have going on. Yuuji allows Nanami to take the reins with all the boring stuff, while he gets to do what he loves most, which is wrestling.
Walking down the hall, Yuuji takes note of the amount of trophies and certificates lined up on the walls and shelves, most of them locked up behind a glass window. Wow, Yuuji stares. Most of them are from the late 1980s. Not sparing them another glance, Yuuji continues to follow Nanami through the decorated halls of the stadium.
Finally, the hall opens up to the stadium where he previously was merely an hour ago. Towards the middle, there’s a crew composed of a cameraman, a reporter, some guy holding up a tall microphone, another guy holding up a small one, and that’s about all he knows about journalism before things start to get muddy.
“Good evening,” Nanami greets, shaking the hand of the reporter and her partner. “I’m here with Itadori Yuuji. Hopefully we made it on time?”
The reporter flashes them a brilliant smile. “No worries on time! We’re doing great, no rush here.”
Nanami nods, reassured. He ushers Yuuji over to where the cameramen are and leaves him to the hands of the crew.
The man holding the huge, heavy camera comes over and shakes his hand. “Nice to meet ya! Before we do anything, would you describe yourself as an introvert or an extrovert?”
Yuuji blinks and stammers, surprised by the question sprung on him. “Well, uh, I think I’d like to describe myself as an extrovert, yeah. Wouldn’t feel right to call myself an introvert. Think I talk too much for that.”
The cameraman lets out a sigh of relief. “Well at least you got that goin’ for you. Either way, my main tip for interviews is play it up. Play into your persona, how people perceive you, or just f*ck it and be yourself. Whatever you end up choosing, make sure to maintain eye contact throughout the interview. Either with the camera or with the reporter. Doesn’t matter. Fans love it when their favorite wrestlers give them a show post match. Most famous wrestlers do that. Or you can just give us a regular interview, your choice.”
Yuuji blinks. This isn’t my first interview, I know what’s typically recommended. He smiles to the cameraman, deciding to keep that thought in his head.
Still, Yuuji nods along with the cameraman, processing all the information being given to him. Once he’s finally got everything down, he looks up. “Yep, yeah, I’ve got it. Eye contact’s good, persona’s good, be yourself, all that stuff?”
The cameraman laughs along with what he says and smiles. “Yeah precisely, you’ve got it. We’ll be starting in a couple of minutes so take the time to get yourself comfortable until then.”
With that, the cameraman makes a mad dash back to the rest of his crew. Yuuji stares at the spot he once occupied, confused. Guess they were in a rush, after all.
Yuuji walks back to Nanami, who’s sitting in one of those plastic white chairs with the weird textured seat. He’s scrolling on his phone, looking at something. Yuuji sits down next to him. “Well, I talked to the cameraman.”
Nanami looks up from his phone. “You did? What’d he say?” There’s a bang from somewhere in the stadium, probably one of the cameramen. Yuuji glances over, curious, but only sees the main cameraman chatting with the reporter. He turns back.
“Oh, just the whole, ‘be yourself, make eye contact, don’t be scared to play things up’ spiel,” Yuuji’s shoes graze the floor. He feels a bit bored. This interview is taking longer to set up than he thought.
Nanami nods slowly. “Well, this isn’t your first interview. It should go fairly smoothly. Some of what he was saying is right.” Yuuji looks up, raising a brow. Is he talking about the ‘be yourself’ stuff?
“Really?” He asks, unsure.
Nanami nods again. “For sure. Making eye contact during an interview is a great thing. Shows the interviewer that you’re sure of yourself and whatever the hell you might be saying. Worked for me with my fair share of job interviews.” Yuuji snorts and rolls his eyes.
“Yeah, thanks for the advice, Nanami,” Yuuji says dryly, still kinda laughing.
Nanami then looks at him out of the corner of his eye before saying, “...It’s also not bad to play things up,” Yuuji startles, looking up at Nanami again. Nanami holds up a hand, effectively hushing him before he can say anything, “I don’t encourage bragging, but wrestlers usually slide in a comment or two to rile up the fans.”
Yuuji nods, relaxing into a slouch. “You’re right. I don’t think I’ve done that in any of my previous interviews, too.” He nods, considering Nanami before saying, “Maybe I’ll give it a try.”
Their moment is interrupted by a shout from across the stadium. Their heads snap to find the reporter waving her hand to them in a ‘over here!’ motion. Yuuji and Nanami send each other a glance before standing and making their way towards her.
“Sorry for the delay, you two,” she apologized, laughing, “We should be ready now. We marked the place where you’re going to stand, it’s just right over there,” she guided them towards a spot taped with two large X’s. They both cautiously shuffled onto each one.
“Alright! Yuuji, not to scare you, but I’m going to be asking you more questions than I will Nanami. It’s your time to shine after the match. I’m sure Nanami might have run you through things, but I’ll repeat it anyway. I’ll mostly be asking you questions about how the match felt in the moment, how Choso was, what it felt like to win, how you feel after this match, and if you’re looking forward to your next one. Are you ready?” Yuuji nods to her, and with that, she stands back and lets him take control.
Yuuji takes one, two deep breaths before looking straight at the reporter. “I’m ready,” he decides.
She gives a quick nod to the cameraman. Yuuji looks over in time for the cameraman to yell out, “We’ll be live in ten seconds! They’re about to finish up, so be ready.”
Yuuji looks to Nanami, who’s standing right behind him. Nanami raises his brow at him, as if to say, ‘You better be ready when they are,’ Yuuji gives him a small smile and a thumbs up, trying to reassure whatever doubts he might have. Surprisingly, out of the two of them, Nanami’s the one who’s usually more nervous when it comes to being in front of a camera.
“Alright. Going live in three… two… one,” On one, the cameraman points towards the reporter who pastes a grin on her face and flawlessly starts off the interview. Yuuji sucks in a breath. Try playing things up.
“Thank you, sir, for passing the camera onto me! I agree, the match between Itadori Yuuji and Choso was a bit too close of a call, and I’m sure you guys are dying to know what was going on inside the minds of the wrestlers in the ring. Today,” She turns to him. He grins, flashing a smile towards the camera, “I have the lovely Itadori Yuuji with us. Itadori Yuuji! You were phenomenal in the ring today. Have anything exciting to share with us? How’d you feel?” She points the microphone towards him, allowing him the spotlight.
One thing Yuuji knows about post-match interviews is that the wrestlers are usually soaked with sweat, some covered in blood, and a lot of them are panting, wild eyed, and look like beasts. If there’s one thing Yuuji has picked up from his time under Nanami’s wing, it’s that most of the pro wrestlers who end up standing out are the ones who are either the wildest, or the ones who know enough of what they’re doing to not only charm the audience, but the industry as well.
Try playing things up.
Yuuji looks at the camera, directly into the audiences’ hearts. He flashes the camera a dazzling smile before staring directly into the reporter’s eyes. He bends down into her space a little, trying to reach the mic. “Well first of all, thank you for interviewing me today, Miss…” His allows a smile to spread across his lips as his eyes meet hers and wander, probing for an answer.
The reporter’s eyebrows shoot straight up, like rockets. A slow smile stretches across her face and she lets out a nervous laugh. “Uh, call me Ozawa,” she says into the mic.
“Ozawa,” he tests out, “Thank you for inviting me to be interviewed today, but there’s just one thing I disagree on,” he says, waiting patiently for her.
“And what might that be?” She asks him, leaning closer.
“I don’t think it was a close call at all,” At this, her eyebrows raise.
“Oh really? So you think Choso having you in one of his deadly headlocks isn’t a ‘close call?’”
Yuuji hums a curious noise and tilts his head, acting as if he’s really, truly thinking it over before shaking his head. “No, no I don’t think so.”
“How so?”
“I knew what I was getting into, going into this match,” he totally doesn’t brag. He rolls his shoulders back, “If long range combat was possible in the wrestling ring, Choso would one hundred percent go for it. Trying to beat me at my own game of trading punches was a mistake.”
Ozawa’s eyebrows raised impossible higher on her forehead. “Your own game?” She looked to the camera, shocked, before looking back at him. “Itadori Yuuji, am I hearing this right?”
Yuuji shrugged, leaning in close to the microphone again–leaning in close to Ozawa again. “Could always lean in a little closer, if that’d help you,” he murmured into the mic, looking straight at her.
Ozawa’s mouth was agape, stuck between a wide grin and a face of shock. She huffed out a laugh, her face suspended in disbelief. “I think we’re gonna have to call it quits today, folks. Itadori Yuuji, it’s been a pleasure interviewing you today. Thank you so much for your time.” She turns towards him, flicking her eyes at him before quickly turning back to the camera again. “Sir, I’m going to hand it back to you again.”
The cameramen signals to his crew. “Aaand… we’re good. You guys can take a breather, now.” He gives him and Ozawa a look.
Yuuji flushes, but allows a relieved sigh. He sends Ozawa a small smile before turning to Nanami for approval. He fully turns around, grinning up at Nanami only to freeze before him.
Nanami’s looking down at him through his glasses, his gaze bouncing back and forth between stern and amused. Finally, he says, “I didn’t know your version of ‘playing it up’ included flirting with the reporter.” He quirked an eyebrow down at him.
Yuuji sputtered before convering up his embarrassment with an easygoing smile. Too bad his body decided to betray his mind by running its mouth. “Well, you know, I just decided to go with the first thing that–”
Before he could continue, Nanami lets loose a quiet laugh and claps a hand on his shoulder. “Yuuji, there’s no need to provide justification or reasoning behind actions that were already recommended you do. We told you to play things up, you did.”
Yuuji blinked, letting his mouth fall shut. He’s right, Yuuji accepts. He sweeps his embarrassment to the side. Nanami always has good advice.
Yuuji follows behind Nanami he goes from person to person, thanking them for their time. Yuuji lets his eyes drift around the stadium, allowing himself to space out. In the corner, his gaze catches on a few people huddling together. One specifically stands out, donning purple and white clothes.
Yuuji’s eyes widen. Purple and white clothes. Feeling a sense of deja vu, he draws his gaze slightly upwards, eyes locking on the two twin buns resting at the top of the man’s head. It’s Choso, Yuuji notices.
When Yuuji’s eyes finally settle on Choso’s face, he flinches. He’s already looking at me, he realizes. Choso stands across the stadium, posture rigid as he looks directly into Yuuji’s eyes. Yuuji subtly corrects his posture, trying to stand up straighter.
Finally, Yuuji tears his gaze away. No use trying to size up sore losers. He huffs a sigh, looking back at Nanami, who’s shaking the hand of the reporter and keeping up casual chatter.
“Once again, thank you for the opportunity,” Nanami smiles courteously, allowing the conversation to come to a close.
“Oh no, thank you guys for accepting,” the reporter grins. She picks up her purse, jacket, and shoulder bag before moving towards the exit. “Great job today, by the way!” She shouts. Yuuji flushes, embarrassed.
“Ready to go?” Nanami’s already standing by the door, belongings already gathered up in his arms.
Yuuji nods quickly, and moves to retrieve his own bags. “Yeah, now I am.”
He gives Choso one last curious glance before darting out after Nanami, leaving the stadium with feelings of curiosity and pride swelling up inside him.
“God, he looks so good. I just cannot believe he’s even real…” Mai sighs from her chair. Specks of glitter wink at him from their place high up on her cheekbones. Megumi rolls his eyes, but cannot resist the temptation to peek at her phone. At the first hint of bulging muscle, he scoffs. “Do all wrestlers look like they eat and drink steroids for a living? Or is it just your particular one?” He glances at the muscular man taking up her phone–black hair tied up and near horrific muscles bulging out of his shirt.
“Jesus, Megumi, you need to learn how to keep that attitude to yourself. Todo doesn’t do steroids, and it’s not like we have much room to talk about doing drugs in order to maintain a certain body shape for the public eye,” she gives him a pointed look as best as she can through the badgering of the makeup artists and stylists.
Megumi chooses to remain silent at that.
“You’ll be up next for makeup. I’m gonna have a camera shoved in my face in maybe five seconds to talk about how oh so excited I am to walk this fashion show. Which I am, because I’m a f*cking model and I’m walking for this fashion show, but jesus christ–” Just as she was about to continue, she’s interrupted with a harsh yell from her manager near the runway.
“Mai!! Come over here, this poor girl is dying to ask you a few questions, so if you would please–” Mai sighs and exchanges a look with him.
“We’ll finish this conversation after the show,” she says, before looking at her reflection in the mirror and click-clacking away in her heels. Megumi huffs out a laugh. He knows damn well they will not be finishing up that conversation anytime soon, if at all. If they aren’t busy with shows and shoots, they are busy trying to get them. That’s just how things are. You can finish up conversations during the few minutes you get before said shows and shoots, but most people would rather spend those precious minutes trying to catch up on sleep.
“You heard what she said, you’re up next,” Nobara smirks at him from above. He wilts in his spinny chair, but relaxes in the makeup teams’ hold and allows them to perform their magic.
“You better sleep lightly tonight, Megumi,” she comments, softly rubbing in a cool moisturizer into his skin. “Your eyelashes are every girls’ dream. It’s a miracle one of us haven’t stolen them off your eyeballs yet.”
Megumi tries his best to resist twitching as someone’s makeup sponge dots against his nose bridge. “You better not touch them. We’ll have to resort to fakes.” Nobara snorts. In the background, there’s a loud crash and the sound of someone passionately cussing. Nobara doesn’t make a sound. She blows a strand of hair away from his face and gets back to work.
She crouches down in front of him. “Like you know anything about the pain of wearing false lashes. Now, close your eyes and stay still,” Nobara orders. Megumi’s lashes flutter shut as her hand swoops in to brush along his eyebrows, coating them with some strange gel that Megumi never bothers to ask about.
Megumi twitches.
“Don’t f*cking move, I swear to god..” A thin, wet brush sweeps across his eyelid. Someone’s turning on a hair dryer in the background. Another crash.
“I can’t help it, I’m sorry.”
The amount of makeup artists surrounding him slowly dwindles in numbers until it’s only Nobara in front of him. Megumi opens his eyes to laugh up at her. She stops him, turning his face back and forth to admire her hard work. Stepping back, she finally moves to grab the setting spray. One step ahead of her, Megumi shut his eyes and steels himself. Despite his best efforts, he flinches when the cold setting spray hit his face.
“Sorry. You know I try to aim it as far away as possible,” Nobara sighs, waving her hand in his face. Megumi shrugs, appreciating the cool air that’s hitting his face. Nobara allows the conversation to fizzle out in favor of concentrating on drying off the setting spray as fast as possible. Everything backstage is done in a rush to beat the clock.
Nobara finally drops her hands. “Open your eyes.”
The first thing he notices when he opens his eyes is his eyes. The green of his eyes stand out against the thick, black outline that clashes against white. On top of his eyelids and just underneath is eyebrows is a dash of brown eyeshadow, made to bring out the depth of his eyes. Megumi turns to the right. The makeup team did a damn good job. His lashes frame his eyes in a subtle, droopy way. Somehow, the makeup team managed to curl his lashes just so, accentuating the downward swoop of his eyes. From the side, he looks almost… sad. No, Megumi corrects. Melancholic. Melancholy is a better, more dramatic word for the type of look the designer is working towards.
The finishing touch is the small, small dot right next to his mouth. The rest of his face is meticulously highlighted, stylized specifically for the spotlight.
“Appreciate it will you can, Meg,” Nobara comments, looking into the vanity as well. “This is a rare instance where we’re encouraged to do such dramatic makeup on our male models. You look like one of those dolls straight out of the 1940s. Don’t you agree?”
Megumi nods, stunned. Aside from his eyes, most of his face will appear untouched on the runway. Only the contour and highlight will truly appear under the lights.
“Yeah, I did a fantastic job, I know,” Nobara sighs, satisfied with her work. She pulls out her phone. “Mind if I take a quick picture? It’ll only be of your eyes.”
“Go ahead,” Megumi positions himself in front of the camera and allows Nobara to snap a quick couple of pictures, turning his head this way and that before being dismissed.
“Before I let you go, just know that someone would like to interview you before you go out there. Gojo’s gonna come and tell you soon, but I just wanted to warn you ahead of time. Pretty sure I heard somewhere that there are quite a few tabloid reporters here. Somehow,” Nobara chortles, but lowers her voice just in case someone might hear.
Megumi hums, thanking her before being hurried away to get dressed.
As expected, Gojo sidles up next to him and matches his fast pace to get dressed, yammering on about the interview he has to do in a couple of minutes.
“Megumi! There you are,” Gojo greets in his same, obnoxious tone. “Your makeup looks stunning today. Nobara did a fantastic job as usual. You’re good on time as of now, and I’m just gonna run through the things you still need to do. I’m just going to let you know ahead of time that there’s this woman coming to interview you right before the show. She’s from a good news channel, so there will be cameras on you. But just in case, I’m coming to you with a warning that you might get swarmed in the process.” Gojo spouts out information at a million miles a minute, but Megumi is able to process it all while relaxing in order for the dressers to properly clothe him into his first outfit.
“Is there anything I should know beforehand?” Megumi asks, just in case.
Gojo thinks it over, carefully, before coming to a realization. “Yes! The designer would like you to wear a mask over your face before the show. He thinks the look should only be revealed once on the runway.”
Megumi nods, looking around. One of the dressers shoves a mask into his hands. Upon examination, it’s similar to a masquerade mask, but built to take up the entire face.
“When will this interview be?” Megumi asks, allowing a dresser to slide his arm into a silky sleeve. A pair of hands move to button up his shirt. Gojo cringes, sucking through his teeth.
“Right after you get changed.” At this, Megumi’s eyebrows shoot up.
“So, right away?” Megumi checks. Gojo nods, gesturing to someone in the back.
“Right away.”
Megumi rushes to hold the masquerade mask up to his face, successfully covering it up. The dressers surrounding him work at twice the speed they once were, rushing to properly clothe him before he goes on camera.
Immediately, a white woman with bouncy, brown curls struts up to him with a small crew behind her. Gojo is right beside Megumi and starts with the introductions. He tries to keep it nice and quick, but by the time cameras are out and ready, seven tabloid reporters have surrounded the area. It’s absolute chaos. Gojo begins to turn his attention towards taming the crowd.
The woman turns towards him as her own crew tends to her. She blinks at the mask, but doesn’t address it. “We’ll try to keep this quick before you have to go on and walk, don’t worry. We’re just going to be asking you a couple of questions about the show and your experience as a model. Nothing you haven’t already heard before, I’m sure.” She flashes him a playful wink. Megumi smiles under his mask.
From the evergrowing crowd, a tabloid reporter shouts out, “Fushiguro Megumi! Are there any secrets about the fashion world you have to share with us?!”
The woman interviewing him pays them no mind, brushing imaginary dust from her outfit. “Ready whenever you are.”
Megumi turns to the journalist, then to the camera, and nods.
The cameraman signals to his crew, then to the journalist. The woman puts on a sugary smile. He can tell she’s experienced. “Fushiguro Megumi! It’s so wonderful to see you here tonight. How are you, and what’s with the mask?”
Megumi laughs and gestures to his face. “Oh, I’m good. Don’t worry about this. We want to keep my face covered up until it’s time to reveal the final look for the runway,” he teases the bit of information in front of her.
Her eyebrows raise. “Now I’m intrigued, if it’s so secret. Can we at least get a bit of a hint?” She laughs, turning the microphone towards him.
Megumi shakes his head no, keeping up the lighthearted atmosphere. “I’m afraid not. That would be spoiling the show.”
The reporter laughs once again. They’re both working hard to keep up appearances. “Speaking of which, how do you feel? Any pre-runway jitters?”
More than. Megumi hums a yes and nods. “Most definitely. I’m feeling a mixture of nervousness and excitement. Even my hands are shaking a little. This is a pretty big show, after all,” he brings his hands up to the camera, letting them tremble and shake.
“Yes, yes. This is said to be one of the biggest fashion events the label is planning on hosting all year,” To this, Megumi laughs and nods along. The journalist allows the conversation to flow naturally. “Speaking of which, how’s it like to be a model for Zenin?
Especially considering their recent shot to fame and fortune. Recently, they’ve started to become considered royalty among the luxury brands and designers. What do you think of this recent change?”
“Being a model for Zenin is a dream come true,” he says smoothly, “It’s hectic, but in the best way possible–”
“Fushiguro Megumi! Are you willing to speak on the recent rumors about your involvement in the–”
Megumi talks over them. “There’s no end to it—the amount of planning, the backstage chaos, the busyness-–honestly, aside from walking down the runway, this part of the night is the hardest part of all. I have full faith in myself tonight, though. No mistakes,” he laughs, casting a glance into the crowd.
Very, very big mistake. The glance he thought would be able to calm the crowd into complacency, only kicked up the chaos. Peace lasted for only a millisecond before the crowd began to clamor around them.
“Megumi, please, the whole world is begging for just a few of your workout tips. Just a couple minutes of your time–”
“Well, Megumi! I’m so thankful I’ve been able to get in a word with you. Before I go, do you mind if I get a quick picture with you?” At her mention of closing the interview off, the crowd grows even more wild. Among the chaos, Megumi gives her a smile and nods, bowing down to her level in order to get in frame of the camera.
“Smile!” Her crewmate laughs, before snapping the photo. The camera goes off with a bright flash. Her crewmate looks back at his camera screen.
“You two look amazing! Thank you so much for allowing us to take your photo.” The woman and her crew thank him with a smile before heading off, leaving them to deal with the leftover crowd.
Gojo jumps at the opportunity presented before him. Cupping his hands around his mouth, he bellows, “Thank you everyone for giving us your time today! Unfortunately, Megumi here is running out of time and will be needed on the runway soon. Thank you.”
Almost immediately, every single person in the crowd disappears. Megumi looks around. It feels eerily similar to how it would feel if a tornado had just ran through the place.
Gojo clapped him on the shoulder. “You did great, Megumi. You made it with fantastic time, five minutes until it’s your turn,” Gojo says. Megumi nods. They just barely made it. Megumi allows himself to drop the mask.
Unfortunately, they’re still backstage of a fashion show. The chaos and clutter of it all continue. The designer and his crew practically pounce on him, scanning him for any mistake, tear, or unattractive fold that might appear as he walks and turns.
In the last few minutes, it’s a flurry of dressing, spinning, undressing, measuring, turning, and touch ups. The designer and his team are a flurry of arms, needles, fabrics, and a quite a few mannequins are knocked over. They’re down to thirty seconds when the designer is finally satisfied with his final product.
The designer quickly undresses the mannequin and turns towards him, clothes splayed out in his arms.
“Get dressed right the f*ck now,” The outfit is pressed into one of the dresser’s arms, and he’s shoved into the other dressers’ holds. “You have thirty seconds until you have to be out there, let’s move!”
With that, the rest of his time backstage is sentenced to hell on Earth. The dressers tear off his robe and scurry to assemble each piece of fabric and accessory that belongs with the outfit.
“Just, let us do the work while you put on these shoes. Don’t struggle, don’t try to help, don’t suggest sh*t while we put on your outfit. Just act like a mannequin and we’ll have you ready in no time,” one dresser tells him, shoving the pair of shoes into his arms. Megumi nods, rushing to shove his feet into the shoes as quickly as possible, minding the heel. No one wants to be embarrassed on the runway because of a broken heel. Only supermodels are able to pull off a broken heel, and he’s no Gisele Bündchen.
The two best dressers are a blur trying to get the main piece on him. He’s balancing on one foot while using someone as a stand in order to put the other shoe on, and another dresser is struggling with the bottom piece while cussing like a sailor.
“Fifteen seconds! Let’s get a move on, I want him ready by ten.”
At this point, the designer has joined in on the chaos, and Megumi is simply allowing people to shove his arms and legs into the clothes he’s supposed to wear.
Finally, the dressers step back and allow the designer to examine the final product. The designer looks him over, analyzing how each piece blends with each other. Right as he begins to re-adjust the pieces of clothing and mutter to himself, Gojo takes a careful step closer and leans over. “Sir,” he mutters, “I’m just letting you know we’re definitely dropping under fifteen seconds.”
The designer snaps out of his reverie and Megumi is quickly ushered towards the curtain where he’ll make his entrance. The designer takes the opportunity to finish up re-adjusting his clothes. Finally, he takes one last step back. He looks at Megumi’s face, hair, and clothes, before giving his approval. With that, he rushes off with his crew to stress over another model’s outfit.
Gojo sidles up next to him again, fidgeting with his watch. “Thank god we made it. Thought he was about to blow up back there.”
Megumi raises a brow. “‘We?’”
Gojo rolls his eyes. “Yes, we, as in you and I. I helped some,” Gojo flicks his sleeve back, checking his watch again “You have precisely ten seconds. Let me know if you need anything.” Megumi’s heart rate picks up, and he nods at Gojo. He schools his face into his typical poker face and readies himself for the intensity of the runway. Gojo’s anxiety must be rubbing off on me, Megumi catches himself thinking. I’m starting to get antsy.
Ten seconds until he has to be on the runway. Megumi takes a deep, steadying breath and begins counting.
Ten. Shutters click from behind the curtain. Flashes shine, and cheers from other models are heard from his right as their fellow models strut off the runway.
Nine. Megumi sniffs. The air is clogged with the smells of perfume, cologne, sweat, makeup, and flat irons. He leans his weight to one side. The heels of his shoes dig in viciously.
Eight. His scalp itches. His armpit itches. The fabric of this outfit is scraping right up against his inner thigh and he really doesn’t want to look like he’s scratching his balls right in front of the whole—
Seven. He wants to sneeze.
Six. Megumi begins to feel anxious. Antsy. It’s as if something is itching underneath his skin. Cameras flash and the music thrums throughout his body. He taps his shoe against the floor.
Five. Megumi’s nose twitches. He sniffs. “Do you need a tissue before you go out to sneeze into?” Gojo leans over and asks. Megumi shakes his head and shoulders him away. He doesn’t want to ruin his makeup.
Four. Megumi takes a deep breath. Don’t trip, walk straight, chin up, don’t try to show off—
Three. Walk with the hips, one foot in front of the other.
Two. Shoulders back, spine straight—
One. Wide stance, graceful, always keep a vertical line up the body.
Megumi relaxes into his stance. He juts his hips out and throwing his shoulders back. With one graceful sweep, he throws the curtains open and takes a wide step onto the runway, into the spotlight.
