Joy slips into the gown Yu has labored over. The fabric whispers as it falls, catching the backstage lights in soft glimmers. The design is an elegant blend of warmth and romance, Paris in winter reimagined.
The bodice was a pearl-white satin, snug yet tender, embroidered delicately with pale silver thread in curling filigree, reminiscent of frost on a windowpane.
The skirt, a layered chiffon, flowing like drifting snow, translucent over a midnight-blue underskirt. Each step will reveal just a shimmer of deep, velvety color beneath the pale drifts, like moonlight reflecting on the Seine.
The accessories were a thin scarf of shimmering silk draped across Joy's shoulders, a nod to Parisian chic, its ends adorned with tiny crystal beads that catch light like falling snowflakes.
And of course, for the finishing touch, Yu pins a tiny enamel brooch shaped like the Eiffel Tower at her waist, a quiet, clever wink to the theme.
Joy twirls in the mirror, breathless.
"Yu—it's perfect. Like… I feel like I could be walking hand-in-hand with someone under the Paris snow!"
Yu forces a smile, tightening the scarf's drape.
'Yes. Perfect. Just hold it together.'
On the surface, he's seemingly meticulous; tugging seams, brushing out wrinkles, pinning hair just so.
Inside? His chest is tight, his pulse uneven.
Theo's phantom kiss on his head and hands still lingers like bruises. The thought of "rings." The memory of his belly clenching with stress earlier.
He presses a hand to the curve beneath his shirt as he crouches to smooth the skirt hem.
'Don't let it show. Don't let them see. Just finish this. Get through this.'
[Warning! Your stress levels are elevating again. Please get control over your emotions. Must I keep giving you reminders:
Avoid emotional spikes for the safety of yourself and the fetuses.]
{Immediate mitigation required. System DK01, please calm your host.}
[...Do you… hear that?]
Yu clicks his tongue softly, low enough Joy doesn't notice.
'Shut up, DK! Not now, I know what I'm doing. Ugh!'
He steadies himself, moving back, adjusting Joy's scarf one last time. His smile sharpens, brilliant and blinding, masking the cracks.
"Everyone!"
The teacher's voice cuts through the buzzing prep like a whip.
"Line up! The show is about to start. First model—ready in sixty seconds!"
Chaos erupts—heels clatter, last-minute makeup dusts the air. Joy grips Yu's hands, squeezing tight.
"Come on, bestie. We've got this."
Yu nods, his throat dry. He forces a smile that doesn't reach his hazel eyes.
'Yes. We've got this.'
But deep inside, the knot in his stomach coils tighter.
…
Yu stays crouched by the racks, hands clenched around the clipboard he isn't even using. His stomach twists with the weight of three small lives inside, and his throat is dry no matter how often he swallows.
The chaos around him blurs—hairspray misting the air, a zipper tugged too hard, shoes clicking on linoleum. But what he can't tune out are the whispers.
"Isn't that Beckham kid the one working with the Joy Kingsley?"
"Figures… Joy's got the Kingsley name. Bet whoever she'd partnered with wins."
"No, look at that outfit—it's way too polished to be student work."
"Maybe he bought it? He is living with those rich roommates…"
Yu's jaw aches as he forces it shut. He wants to scream, to throw the stupid clipboard across the floor.
'I made this. With my own hands. Every stitch. Every bead. If I could bleed into fabric, I would!'
But instead, he breathes. One breath. Then another. His smile remains paper-thin but intact.
{Stress levels rising to dangerous levels. Please recommend healthy coping methods to deal with elevated stress.}
[I… recommend steady breathing… Ah, Host, you must remember; proving them wrong is more efficient than responding directly.]
Yu clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth.
'Yeah. I know. I'll prove them all wrong.'
Just then, the teacher shouted—
"Joy Kingsley, ready? Go!"
The curtain parts. Joy steps out.
And the entire room shifts.
She carries the winter-parisian romance like she was born to it. The satin bodice hugs her frame without stiffness, shimmering like snow at sunrise. The chiffon skirt floats behind her with each step, pale over midnight blue, like clouds parting to reveal a star-lit sky.
Her strut begins with the tiniest tremble—then steadies, growing with every click of her heels until it commands the floor.
A pause at the edge of the runway—her chin lifts, eyes gleam, her mouth curves into a smile both soft and magnetic. A half-spin, the scarf unfurling across her shoulders like a snow-dusted banner. The crystals catch the light, scattering like flurries.
Gasps ripple through the audience. Phones flash.
Yu holds his breath backstage, fists pressed to his knees.
'That's it. That's everything we worked for. Don't stumble now…'
Joy doesn't. Her final pivot is clean, her stare piercing, regal—like she doesn't just wear the outfit, she rules it.
And in the layered chiffon's sway, the hidden rose embroidery glints, fleeting red blooms caught in the spotlight—like lovers passing under winter light, forever almost-touching.
Yu's chest tightens. Not with stress, but pride.
For once, he lets himself feel it.
The moment Joy pivots back toward the curtain, applause bursts through the hall.
Not polite, not dutiful—real applause.
A few students backstage freeze, wide-eyed. Whispers rise and ripple, no longer cutting, but startled.
"She owned it."
"Those roses—how did he hide that embroidery until the spin?"
"Okay… that was genius…"
On the front row, the head judge leans toward his colleague, murmuring in low approval. The assistant judge scribbles furiously in their notes.
Even the teachers nod along, impressed.
Joy doesn't just return backstage—she floats back, glowing, the energy of the crowd still clinging to her like an aura.
Yu is on his feet before she's even behind the curtain. His chest is tight, vision blurring with heat he doesn't want to admit is tears.
"Yu, did you see them?!"
Joy beams, her chest heaving from the walk.
"Y-yeah…"
Yu croaks, voice breaking. He quickly clamps a hand over his mouth. The clipboard wobbles in his grip.
Joy pauses, her proud energy softening when she sees his glassy eyes.
"Oh no—Yu?!"
"I—I'm fine."
Yu insists, blinking rapidly.
"Don't—don't you dare cry on this blouse, Joy, I worked too hard—"
But he's already sniffling, lips trembling as he forces a shaky smile. His free hand hovers helplessly over the fabric, as if trying to shield it from his own tears.
Joy bursts out laughing even as she wraps her arms around him, careful of the blouse.
"Oh my god, you're crying and still scolding me?!"
"I—it's the hormones!"
Yu blurts, flushing.
"And—s-stress. And—and—"
His voice cracks again, and he hides his face against her shoulder, desperately trying to tilt away so his tears don't blot the embroidery.
The crew bustling backstage glance over. Some smirk, others roll their eyes. But more than a few soften, because the scene—designer and model clutching each other, one sobbing, one laughing—is so human it cuts through all the competition.
Joy strokes his back gently, her laughter easing into tenderness.
"It's okay. We nailed it. You nailed it. Cry if you want. I'll keep your outfit safe."
Yu hiccups a laugh through his tears, still pressed against her.
For the first time that day, the stress truly ebbs.
Joy eases Yu into one of the folding chairs against the wall, still giggling softly but with her hands fluttering like frantic wings.
"Stay there, don't move, I'll—hang on—"
She darts across the room, grabbing a half-empty box of tissues from another student's kit. She returns like a medic rushing into triage, pulling tissues free and dabbing at Yu's cheeks while Yu half protests, half lets her.
"Joy, I'm not a kid—"
"Shhh, hush, my designer's fragile and delicate."
Joy teases, grinning, but her eyes are glossy with affection.
Next she's rooting through Yu's bag.
"Water. Notes. Where—aha!"
She pulls out his stash:
The plastic baggy of chocolate-covered pickles. A couple of nearby students gag at the memory. Joy just beams like she's holding a sacred relic and waves it under Yu's nose.
Yu groans, flushing.
"Not now—"
"You need comfort, and these are your comfort food, right?"
She insists, peeling the wrapper and nudging it toward him.
"Don't make me feed you like when we were kids. You were so cute, barely able to hold the fork and begging me to feed you hehe."
Yu sputters at that, but takes a bite anyway—salty, sweet, tart. Ridiculous. It grounds him. His sobs taper into softer hiccups, manageable and quiet, his chest still rising fast but steadier now.
Joy pats his knee, proud as if she's solved the world's problems.
"See? All better."
The backstage chatter stills as the host's voice booms over the speakers.
"Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for your patience. The judges have reached a decision."
A hush sweeps across the hall. Yu's fingers clutch the tissue, trembling, stomach twisting worse than the morning's nausea. Joy squeezes his hand once before stepping aside to listen.
"In third place…"
Cheers erupt for a classmate.
"In second place…"
More applause.
Yu's ears ring, his breath caught in his throat.
"And finally—the first place winner, whose work captured the essence of the theme with creativity, cohesion, and a striking runway performance…"
A beat. A pause sharp enough to make Yu dizzy.
"…Yuvin Beckham."
The room explodes with applause. Joy squeals so loudly the students next to her jump. She crushes Yu into a hug, rocking him side to side.
"You did it! You did it!"
Yu can't breathe. Not from her squeeze, not from the room, but from the words.
France.
The door.
Escape.
His eyes blur again, but this time the tears are triumphant.
Joy's shriek still echoes in Yu's ears as she squeezes him tight, rocking him so hard his chair creaks. Yu clings back, dizzy from the whirlwind of tears, nerves, and now sheer elation.
"I knew it! I knew it!"
Joy beams, bouncing on her toes when she finally lets him go.
"Paris, Yuvin. Paris! You're going!"
Yu wipes at his cheeks with the last of the crumpled tissues, his smile small but bright. His heart still pounds as if it hasn't caught up with the announcement.
The professor steps up behind them, clipboard in hand, and adjusts his glasses with a rare, genuine smile.
"Congratulations, Beckham. The judges were unanimous. You've earned the top spot. You'll receive an official email with all the necessary details and a packing list. Be sure your passport and documents are in order, and prepare for an intensive few months ahead."
Yu stands quickly, bowing politely.
"Th-thank you, professor."
The words stumble out, but the teacher doesn't seem to mind. He only pats Yu once on the shoulder before moving on.
Joy fans herself with both hands as if she's the one about to faint.
"Do you hear that? So official! Emails. Packing lists. France!"
Yu laughs, soft and shaky, still clutching the tissues like a lifeline.
"Yeah… France."
His voice breaks on the word, but Joy doesn't notice—too busy bouncing, already chattering about berets and Paris cafés and long-distance calls. Even considering all the ways she can convince Theo to let her vacation in France while Yu was over there.
All around them, the chaos of endings surges:
The scuff of chairs, the zip of garment bags, students crying in relief or frustration, makeup being wiped away with harsh strokes. The victory bubble holds, though, shielding Yu and Joy in their own fragile, glowing center.
Yu presses a hand to his belly through the loose fabric of his blouse, the smile still trembling on his lips. France. A chance. A door opening.
Finally, for days, maybe weeks, the thought feels like light instead of chains.
---
Outside the auditorium, the cold air outside slaps Yu's flushed cheeks, cooling the warmth of victory. Joy skips out behind him, buzzing still, but Yu barely hears her—because Theo is there, tall and sharp in his tailored coat, waiting.
Theo's eyes narrow immediately.
"Yu, what's wrong? You've been crying."
His hand lifts as if to touch his face, then hesitates, hanging midair.
"What happened in there?"
Yu's throat tightens.
"Because I won! I did it!"
He wants to shout with pride.
"Because I finally see my chance to buy me some time."
But Theo's words echo in his mind—"rings," "engagement," "marriage." To him, this was just a school exercise, a costume show. Homework. Not the future.
The truth would shatter too much.
So Yu swallows the bile in his throat, forces his lashes low, and whispers with a trembling smile.
"Because I failed. They said… failing grade."
Theo blinks, stunned, his whole frame stiffening.
"Failed? Impossible."
His voice hardens, sharp edges forming.
"You're more talented than half the department. Blind fools—"
He turns, already marching toward the venue doors.
Panic sparks in Yu's chest. He grabs Theo's sleeve with both hands, his grip so weak for his already small frame that Theo realized he could step back and drag Yu with him if he so wanted. He chose to stop in his tracks though.
"Theo—don't. Please. It's fine."
His voice trips over itself, desperate.
"I'll just… have to try harder. I-I'm fine. Really. Right now, I'm just hungry."
He forces a weak laugh, tilting his head, eyes soft.
"Why don't we go eat instead? You, me and Joy, like a family…"
Theo freezes. His jaw works, muscle twitching with the urge to fight for him, but slowly, reluctantly, he lets the tension ease. He looks down at Yu, taking in his smaller hands still clutching his sleeve, the faint shine of tears not yet dried.
"…Alright."
He concedes at last, voice low, reluctant.
"But this isn't over. I'll speak to the professor myself later. They'll understand their mistake."
Yu exhales a quiet, shaky breath, releasing his sleeve like it burned. His smile doesn't quite reach his eyes.
"Thank you. But food first, okay?"
Theo nods, softening, making Yu his priority once again—but in his heart, he silently vows.
'No one makes Yu cry. Not his teachers, not his classmates. Not anyone. Hmm... it's odd though...'
Joy, having been only a step behind them, catches Yu's lie and immediately understands enough.
'He doesn't want Theo to know.'
So she clamps her lips shut over her bubbling glee, her fists balled at her sides to contain it.
"Well…"
She says brightly, voice a little too loud.
"We'll just… do better next time!"
She beams between the two of them, pretending to sigh.
"Even if the judges were blind."
Theo gives her a stiff nod, irritation still burning in his eyes, but Yu flashes her a grateful glance—a silent thank you. Joy tucks her arm through his, pressing close like she always did as children. The lie feels heavier with every step, but she carries it for him anyway, her brother's storm contained only because Yu needed it.
---
At the nearest five-star restaurant, they settle into a quiet booth, Theo seated beside Yu instead of across from him, his body angled protectively as though shielding him from the world. Joy plops opposite them, filling the air with chatter about the "next assignment" while Yu folds into the cushions, trying to disappear.
When the menus arrive, Theo ignores his own. He leans over, close enough that Yu can smell the faint trace of cologne and the paper-and-ink scent of his coat.
"What do you want? I'll order."
His voice is firm, commanding, but there's a strange tenderness threaded in, like he doesn't trust Yu to lift this burden either.
Yu's stomach twists, not from nerves, but from hunger and the gnawing thrum of his cravings. His eyes dart down the page. None of the neat lines of entrées appeal—until he sees the side dishes. He swallows hard.
"French fries… with vanilla ice cream drizzled in hot sauce."
Theo blinks. Joy coughs into her sleeve, fighting a laugh.
Theo's brow furrows, but he doesn't argue. Instead, he flags the waiter without missing a beat.
"French fries and vanilla ice cream drizzled in hot sauce."
He says smoothly, like it was the most normal order in the world. Then, quieter, only for Yu.
"Anything else?"
Yu shakes his head quickly, cheeks heating, embarrassed but too hungry to care. He mumbles.
"No, just that."
The waiter departs.
Joy tries to fill the silence with small talk, but Theo keeps his eyes locked on Yu. When the plate arrives, he gently nudges it closer, sliding the ice cream spoon into Yu's hand before Yu can protest. Yu dips a fry into the melting, red vanilla, chewing slow, savoring—and Theo watches, gaze dark with something unreadable.
Every crunch, every swallow feels like being seen too closely. Yu forces another smile and dips another fry. Joy bounces in her seat, pretending not to notice the heavy weight simmering between them.
Theo rests his elbow on the table, chin propped on his fist as Yu crunches through another ice cream–dipped fry. His gaze never wavers, dark blue eyes fixed on every motion like he was committing it to memory.
"You cried over an assignment. You've never cried over just an assignment before."
He says suddenly, low and direct.
"Yu… why are you lying to me?"
The spoon clatters softly against the glass dish. Yu's breath catches.
Before he can fumble for an excuse, Joy cuts in quickly, voice sharp with cheer.
"Theo! Don't grill him like that. We're all stressed. You don't know how much pressure these projects carry."
She reaches across the table, patting Yu's wrist like a sister, her bright smile just wide enough to cover the tension.
Theo doesn't look at her. He only leans closer to Yu, voice even quieter.
"You don't have to smile for me if you're in pain."
Yu's pulse skips—DK01's cold monotone pings in the back of his mind.
[Warning! Your stress levels are rising.]
Yu clears his throat and forces another smile, lifting another fry, dripping with melted vanilla and hot sauce.
"I'm fine. Really. Just… guess I've become more sensitive over the years, hahaha."
The lie almost works—until his stomach twists again, more insistent, more particular. His eyes dart down the menu, then back to the plastic bag of pickles Joy had slipped into her purse for him. His mouth waters at the thought before the craving morphs, stronger, stranger.
"…I want… pickles. But with soy sauce. And… whipped cream."
Joy nearly chokes on her water.
"Yu!"
She slaps a hand over her mouth, shoulders shaking as she tries not to laugh.
Theo blinks, stunned into silence. His jaw flexes, then he raises a hand for the waiter without hesitation.
"Pickles."
He orders flatly when the man appears.
"Bring a small plate. And soy sauce. And whipped cream."
The waiter stares.
"Whipped… cream, sir?"
Theo's glare sharpens like a blade. The waiter scurries off.
Yu flushes scarlet, pressing his palms over his face.
"You didn't have to—!"
Theo's voice softens, cutting him off.
"If you want it, you'll have it."
Joy's shoulders shake harder—she can't hold in her bubbling laugh anymore, dissolving into helpless giggles at her brother's deadly serious delivery while Yu hides behind his hands, mortified.
The air at the table turns strange:
Equal parts suffocating, tender, and absurd.
The waiter returns, balancing a plate of pickles, a small dish of soy sauce, and a swirl of whipped cream in a glass ramekin, clearly fighting back questions he knows better than to ask. He places it down and hurries away.
Theo takes the plate first, sliding it in front of Yu before dipping a pickle into the soy sauce, then rolling it through the whipped cream like it was the most natural thing in the world. He lifts it, offering it across the table.
"Say ah."
Theo murmurs, voice low, firm, but wrapped in silk.
Yu freezes, pulse spiking. His cheeks heat as Joy looks between them, eyes wide. The thought of leaning forward, of letting Theo push the ridiculous concoction past his lips, makes bile stir at the base of his throat. But DK01's static reminder scrapes across his mind.
[Endure. Keep him tethered. If you still want to go the harem route with Adrian and Callen then you need to make him fall completely in love with you and get his permission. You're so close to 50%. Don't mess it up now.]
Yu parts his lips, tentatively. Theo's gaze softens like melted glass as he slips the pickle into Yu's mouth. Yu chews, swallows, forces a smile.
Joy, unable to bear the thick air, suddenly snatches a pickle herself.
"Oh my god, let me try feeding him too! Ah, this definitely takes me back!"
She laughs, plunging it in soy sauce and whipped cream before shoving it toward Yu's lips with exaggerated playfulness.
Yu sputters around a laugh, leaning toward her hand instead. Joy's bright giggle fills the air, scattering the heavy tension, breaking the spell Theo had tried to weave.
For a brief moment, Yu feels safe again.
Then—
Buzz, buzz.
His phone buzzes. He glances down at the screen, Theo leaning in curiously. It's the roommate group chat.
Adrian: I tried to make dinner… emphasis on tried. Can you come back soon? Callen is pestering me and I miss you.
A chuckle slips from Yu before he can stop it, a faint flush painting his cheeks.
'Of course he'd ask.'
He types quickly with one hand, biting back a small smile.
Theo watches. He doesn't speak. He doesn't frown. He only sips his water, eyes lidded, filing the detail away like a man adding a piece to an unsolvable puzzle.
---
The car hums quietly in the night, Rin focused on the road while the city lights streak past the tinted windows. Joy chatters beside Yu about the funny faces their classmates made backstage, filling the silence with warmth.
Yu laughs where he can, but his reflection in the glass stares back at him hollow. His smile wavers, fingers knotted in his lap. Every mile that passes, the weight of the night presses harder against his chest—the lie to Theo, the suffocating near-intimacy at the restaurant, the gnawing pull of Adrian's name flashing on his phone.
Theo hasn't looked away from him since they left. His gaze, reflected faintly in the window, burns hotter than Yu can stand.
And as the car slows near his home, Yu feels the mask he's held all night splintering.