Dispatch

We Are, Who We Are

Mew smoothed up any wrinkles in his dress shirt by rubbing his hands over the jacket over it. He adjusted the collar of his shirt and the sleeves of his jacket so they fell just past his hands after checking himself out in the corner's narrow standing mirror, which seemed to be too short for his height but was just right. He leaned close to the mirror and gave himself a nod of appreciation as he swiftly checked that each strand of his brown hair was falling in just the proper spots.

When he was finally pleased, he turned on his black dress shoes' heels and pulled back the curtain. He smiled somewhat reluctantly when he saw the stylist waiting for him. He continued to smile uncomfortably while folding his arms across his chest and slightly cocking his head to the side to at least strike a posture.

"Flawless! "The stylist praised, a beaming grin on her lips as she motioned for him to approach. Flipping up the collar of Mew's shirt so she could tie it for him, she reached for the necktie that dangled from the top of the chair. After she was done, she waved her hand one last time, and Mew leaned forward to make it easier for her to run her fingers over his hair and fix the changes he had just made to himself (to which he frowned at). "That's it, done! "

Mew was about to leave the cosmetics room with a brighter smile and more drive when he was abruptly called back. He arched an eyebrow at the stylist as she approached him with one of the cosmetics brushes.

He said, "That's not your job."

Mew makes another wave, but doesn't budge an inch. "It only needs a little tweak. Nobody will even be aware.

So what's the point then?

"Because I told you to."

Mew eventually leaned forward and shrugged as she fixed the eye makeup at the corners, saying, "Fair enough." Mew was eventually permitted to leave the room after receiving one final nod of permission. As he did so, he quickly sighed, sank slightly into the door, and closed his eyes to give himself a minute of calm.

Mew like modeling; it was and always would be his love, and everyone always agreed that it was the finest career path for him after dancing. That did not imply that he did not have aspects of his job that he detested more than words could express. He had to let others to touch him, with their hands covering him completely and invading every square inch of his personal space. He had to endure daily lectures on what foods to consume and when to eat them in order to preserve his appearance, as well as comments from his real pals that he was too thin and needed to eat more. He assumed his buddies were correct, but by that time he was unable to determine for sure. It's not like he had any control over it when employees were always hovering over him anytime he even dared to eat a modest snack off-time. He detested being instructed how to behave, how to walk, hold himself, smile, and act.

But there was so much more he had never even considered before. He never had a say in anything, and that much was evident to him long before he even pursued the career. Even though there were moments when the terrible overshadowed the good, he loved what he did and wouldn't trade it in for anything.

When he heard footsteps coming down the corridor, he instantly stood up straight and cleared his throat. The manager and another model then appeared from around the corner. "Mew, get going! Mew only nodded silently and followed the manager and the other model (along with pal), First.

He exhaled a faint, trembling sigh since he could already see the almost dazzling lights pointed at the runway. He had previously experienced some anxiety. First mockingly smiled at him from alongside him as they both glanced at one other. "Don't worry, you won't trip this time," he murmured.

"Fuck off," Mew bit back, an obvious tone of amusement hidden underneath.

"Or?"

The two exchanged a brief laugh before, finally, the workers behind them pushed First out onto the platform. Mew stood back and watched as the elder model cleaned his face of any big grins as he came into view of the audience. Mew took one final long breath to calm his anxieties before feeling himself being shoved onto the stage. He stood up straight and made sure to look confident throughout (something he had to learn to do for the concert and hopes he's gotten excellent at).

Mew had to use all of his willpower not to squint against the lights as he proceeded down the walkway and crossed paths with First, who was already heading back. The lights were largely blinding for those on the runway. As he came to the end of the path and struck a very uninteresting pose, Mew realized something wasn't quite right. He sensed eyes on him, watching his every move, and it gave him a small shudder. As he began to stride back, the air occasionally felt too thin and made it difficult for him to breathe even though it almost felt heavier.

The look was so particular that it stood out from all the others that were on him.

It seemed so normal.

And almost unsettlingly melancholy.

He crossed it off in his mind as merely his frayed nerves playing tricks on him from time to time because there were so many people observing him. Not that it wasn't frequent, either. But as he once more rounded the platform, he noticed something out of the corner of his eye and quickly gave it a quick glance.

Mew was anxious as their gazes connected because the man seated there, with his light blond hair standing out so well, looked recognizable. The man appeared to not even want to be there as he simply stared at him in a rather unamused manner. Mew turned his focus back to the runway when he was unable to get a better glimpse at the blonde, who immediately vanished backstage. It took him a few seconds for his eyes to become used to the backstage hallway's better illumination. 

*** to be continued ***