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Eren was decked out in black leather pants, a loose ripped t-shirt, a denim jacket, and combat boots to top it off. His shaggy brown hair was being tousled by his hair stylist, making it volumized and glossy. His makeup was already finished – his bright eyes lined with thick kohl made him look fierce and sharp.
He loved being a model. It was a long and winding road getting to where he was, because of the industry’s cutthroat competition among models, but it was Eren’s passion. He had started out humbly, almost like everyone; his city’s local lifestyle magazine caught wind of him, and suddenly, he was getting phone calls from agencies and renowned designers.
The best phone call he received, however, was from AA, a German brand that was quickly rising to fame because of its high quality edgy clothes. They specialized in streetwear, but obviously not the flimsy and casual kind – AA’s lines commanded attention, in spite of its mostly monochrome color palette. Eren had been following the brand since he was sixteen, longingly scrolling through the website and catalogs, dreaming to become a model for their clothes at least once.
Now, for some reason, he found himself being face of the brand. He had no idea how it had happened – his manager, Petra, got the call a few months back, asking if Eren was interested in being the new ambassador. At first, they had thought it was some kind of sick prank. It was common knowledge (at least for Eren’s fans and his friends that were also in the industry) that he was gunning to model for AA. The weeks after that phone call had been so surreal. Photoshoots were planned, press events were scheduled, and he’d even be flying out to Germany to be there during the launch of the brand’s winter line.
Eren was walking on air.
“Hair’s done,” the stylist said from behind him, snapping the brunet out of his daydream. This was one of his first solo photoshoots, and the butterflies in his stomach still didn’t know how to calm down. The pre-photoshoot jitters always came, since he was still pretty much a fresh face.
“Thanks,” Eren smiled, looking at the stylist through the mirror in front of him. He looked pretty damn good, if he did say so himself.
The set was being prepared a few feet away. It was being shot in an old, industrial building, giving the shoot a gritty feel. There were always so many people at shoots like this – so many details needed to be taken care of and so many tasks needed to get done.
There was quite a commotion to Eren’s left, though – even the ones working on the set craned their heads to find out what was going on.
“What’s happening?” he asked his stylist curiously, who was sweeping the floor to clear it of the short strands of hair from Eren’s trim.
“Mr. Arlert is here! He told the crew that he’d be coming in to oversee the shoot. No pressure, babe,” she teased with a wink.
The brunet blanched and gulped nervously. Despite being a loyal AA stan, he had no idea what Armin Arlert looked like. It was one of the brand’s philosophies to not publicise how he looked like – apparently Mr. Arlert wanted a peaceful life behind the curtains. He didn’t want to be hounded by the blood-suckers in the industry. Outside of a few close colleagues and confidants, nobody knew how he looked like.
Of course, Eren spent many nights trying to imagine how the enigmatic fashion designer looked like. Based on the clothes he designed, it would only be fitting for him to also look edgy and intense, right? Maybe he had slick black hair, or maybe an undercut… The brunet pictured him to have sharp features, and maybe a few piercings and tattoos running up the length of his arms.
The commotion died down, and it was replaced by some excited whispers and murmurs. Eren spinned his seat around and tried to spot anyone who would look like the designer he was such a huge fan of. He wanted to thank him, maybe even get on his knees and bow down–
And there he was. Eren was convinced that it was him – his aura was, well, it was menacing. He also looked exactly how he imagined. An ink black undercut, sharp, squinted features. A few tattoos even peaked under the edge of his dark grey peacoat. A phone was pressed to his ear, and he looked like he was berating a very poor soul on the other line. He was a somewhat small but strong looking man, and he definitely turned heads.
Behind him was a slender blond young man dressed in simple clothes consisting of a baby blue button up and old looking khakis. It was probably his assistant, following close by his side.
He didn’t hesitate a second to leap out of his chair and go up to the esteemed Armin Arlert.
“Oh my God,” Eren squeaked out, his hands shaking slightly. “T-thank you so much for this opportunity, I’ve been dreaming of this since I was a teenager and all of this is so surreal, I really can’t believe you’re here! I’m Eren by the way, but I think you already know that!”
The man on the phone noticed the model blabbering in front of him, and he looked like he was on the verge of tears. “Hey, you shit. I’m on the damn phone. And don’t cry, you’ll screw up your makeup.”
Eren did not expect Armin Arlert to be such an asshole. Sure, he was an uber successful fashion designer, a shrewd businessman, and only the brunet’s number one idol, but he did his best to swallow his disappointment down.
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Arlert! I’ll come talk to you when you’re not so busy!”
The man once again removed his phone from his ear and gave him a calculating look. “What the fuck? The Arlert you’re looking for is that little blond thing,” he said, nodding towards the guy a feet or so behind him, happily chatting up on of the people on set. “I’m Levi, his assistant. Now get lost.” The phone was again pressed against the man – Levi’s ear as he briskly walked away.
Eren was dumbfounded. He looked over to the actual Armin Arlert… he stood out like a sore thumb. He looked like the exact opposite of how the brunet imagined – the shoulder length blond hair was wrong, the light pastel colors he was wearing was wrong, and the soft boyish face was wrong. Everything was wrong, and he was convinced that that Levi guy was fucking with him. Was this also part of the brand’s ploy? Was “Levi” just an alias so that people who did meet him think he wasn’t Armin? Was this just a scheme for people to actually not find out who Armin Arlert was?
He was confused, but he walked up the the blond regardless.
“Uh, excuse me, are you Armin Arlert?” he asked apprehensively. Awkwardness was radiating off of him, despite looking he was anything but.
The supposed Armin turned around from talking to one of the stylists. The boy had bright blue eyes and a few freckles, and he definitely looked too much like a shrinking violet to be the head designer of currently one the industry’s most fashion-forward brands. He had an air of shyness and reservedness, but something about him drew Eren towards him like a magnet.
“Yeah, that’s me,” the blond said easily with a hint of a German accent, extending his hand to shake Eren’s. “It’s a pleasure – I’m a big fan of your work, Eren, and I’m really happy about our partnership!”
The brunet was drawing a blank, but he eventually got the cue and extended his own hand. “Um, thank you! I thought that guy over there… Levi, was it? I thought he was you,” Eren laughed, trying to shrug off his nervousness.
Armin shrugged and chuckled. “I get that a lot. It helps, you know, because I don’t like drawing attention to myself. I let him do all the external stuff, and everything’s been going smoothly so far.”
His laugh is really cute, Eren thought to himself. But he needed to act professional. Developing a crush on him, of all people, would probably spell doom. It would threaten his career, his image. He didn’t need to be pining over this blond wallflower that was the actual definition of sunshine, and–
“You look really nice, by the way,” Armin added with a small, shy smile. “I swear, I’m still not used to seeing my designs worn by actual people.”
The brunet could practically feel the blood rushing to his face. His sweat was probably destroying his makeup, which the crew worked really hard on, but that didn’t matter at the moment. All that mattered was that he was talking to the brains behind AA, the one who inspired him to care about fashion in the first place. It was a dream come true, and it definitely didn’t help that Armin Arlert was really fucking adorable, despite his ordinary clothes and unassumingness. In fact, that made him even more attractive.
“Thank you!” Eren replied. “Thank you for contacting me to do this in the first place.”
Armin straightened his collar. “It’s really no problem. I didn’t want to get this big-time overrated model just so the brand could draw in more people. When I saw your face and your previous work, I thought to myself, ‘this one is perfect. He would be able to carry AA well.’”
The brunet was dying. Armin said he was perfect. Just as he was about to reply something incredibly stupid and most probably humiliate himself, the set manager called out his name.
“Eren Jaeger? We’re starting in about fifteen minutes,” he heard from the other side of the room. “Get your makeup touched up.”
“Well, I think it’s best you get going,” Armin prompted. The brunet didn’t know if he was just delusional, but the other kind of looked downcast that their conversation was cut short.
“Y-yeah.”
Just as Eren was about to make his way back to the makeup area, Armin made an apprehensive noise behind him.
“Uh – do you want to get coffee after? Maybe?”
With a wide, wide smile, the brunet nodded enthusiastically, but he didn’t want to take things the wrong way. “I would love to! Is this to discuss the future of the partnership, or…?”
Armin shyly shook his head and scuffed his nondescript shoes against the pavement. “I, uh. No. I want to talk more, and get to know you–”
“Yes, yes, a million times yes,” Eren rushed out a little too quickly. “Oh my god.”
“Eren Jaeger! Paging Eren Jaeger!” an angry voice that kind of sounded like Levi suddenly called out. “Believe it or not, but we can’t start this damn thing without you!”
The brunet quickly waved bye to Armin, whose face was blotted with a variation of red and pink shades. There was a gentle smile on his youthful face, and the promise of coffee and maybe a little something more hung in the air.