Work Text
"Leandro!"
I was stepping out of a massive building, my hair slicked back, freshly cut just a few hours earlier, and a touch of subtle makeup to enhance my features. The streets were packed with people, the air buzzing with energy and the murmur of the crowd. My latest movie was a total hit, and we were only on premiere night. I had to be there, flashing smiles at the sea of strangers. It was my big night—my big night—yet all I wanted was to slip away to the comfort of my home.Everywhere I looked, there were posters of me and the beautiful actress who starred alongside me. Our faces were plastered on shirts, merchandise, even giant screens on buildings. That part of the city felt like an extension of our film, with our names in lights: Leandro Blanco and Ashley Gergiou. She was my age, a brunette with striking blue eyes, and we'd known each other since our amateur days, practicing in theater before launching our careers. She'd decided to stay at the party a little longer, constantly checking her phone. Honestly, I didn't really care. I'd left as soon as I could, signed autographs, did what was expected, and now I just wanted to disappear.I was wearing a brand-new suit, custom-made for me by a Japanese designer—Aoki, if I remembered right. Though I wouldn't usually choose to wear a suit, given my aversion to extravagant outfits, this one was perfect. It fit like a glove, simple yet elegant with a black and white palette, and the soft fabric made me feel as comfortable as possible for someone in a suit.I smiled, keeping my gaze steady on every camera in sight, even though the flashes stung my eyes, and the bright lights were giving me a headache. I had to keep smiling, ensuring that no paparazzi caught me at a bad angle. Several reporters were shouting my name, trying to grab my attention. I usually hated answering their questions, but my manager had warned me that if I kept dodging interviews, I'd have to find a new agent. And while anyone would sell their soul to represent me at this point in my career, Jackson had been with me for so long that I wasn't about to fire him over a petty tantrum. Besides, I wasn't comfortable putting my trust in a stranger—there were too many of those in my life as it was. No matter who represented me, this career was a constant headache."Leandro, over here!" Say my name right. Ever since I moved to the U.S., no one seemed to get it right the first time. It used to be funny—now, it just grated on my nerves. I turned my head slightly and, moving slowly, walked toward the reporter standing closest to the limousine that was waiting to take me home. I wanted to leave, fast. She was a woman in her early twenties, medium height with her hair pulled back."It's a pleasure to be at the premiere of your new film! Do you have any upcoming projects?" Why do you care? My thoughts were anything but kind. I constantly marveled at how annoying journalists were, asking empty questions without really caring about the answers. And don't even get me started on the paparazzi—they were insufferable. My PR team was supposed to handle these questions, not me. I just wanted to rest.As always, I plastered a charming smile on my face and answered in a cheerful tone. "Actually, yes! We're starting auditions tomorrow to choose the co-star for my next film."The crowd's murmur grew louder, cameras clicking, fans shouting in excitement over the news. I could feel the heat from the lights and the weight of all the eyes on me. Every movement was calculated, every smile rehearsed. There was no room for mistakes."Do we have a plot for the new film, Leandro?" Don't act like we're friends...ugh. "Well, the script is still being tweaked, but I can tell you it's going to be even more exciting than this one."Suddenly, a different reporter jumped in, changing the subject entirely. "Who designed the suit you're wearing, Leandro?" Can you not see the logo in front of your face? "Well, thanks for asking! This suit was custom-made for me by up-and-coming designer Hanako Aoki. It's probably the best suit I've worn to date." I chuckled lightly, making my escape before anyone could ask another question. I figured Jackson would be pleased enough to let me lay low for a couple more days.Just as my chauffeur opened the door, I felt someone tug at my jacket. Startled, I froze. I hated being touched, especially by strangers. I glanced behind me, seeing a group of fans, their faces lit with excitement and hope. Don't even think about it. "Did you guys enjoy the movie?" I asked, and a few of them squealed in response. The one who had grabbed me didn't let go, making me tense up. Let go, NOW. "Want an autograph?" I saw them nod quickly, and the guy who had grabbed me finally released his grip.
I looked at my chauffeur, who, within seconds, handed me a pen. He always knew exactly what I needed and when I needed it. "Thanks," I muttered. Finally, someone useful. Can't the security team keep these people at a distance? I started signing whatever they handed me. Hurry up. When I finished, one of them spoke. "C-could you take a picture with me?" I put a friendly hand on his shoulder. I hope you regret wasting my time for the rest of your life. "Of course!"
After a series of photos with fans, I finally managed to get into the car. I smiled one last time for the paparazzi before sinking into the black leather seats, matching the sleek exterior of the limo. The scent of freshly opened champagne and cherries filled the air. I reached for my phone, which I hadn't taken to the premiere. Several missed calls from Jackson and other members of my PR or marketing team...God knows what had happened now.
With a sigh, I sat up and called Jackson back. Jackson Nighy was a charismatic man, one of the smoothest talkers I knew. Tall with sharp features, he'd been in my life for so long that he'd practically become a father figure—though eventually, I realized it was all a ploy to keep me in line.
"Leandro Blanco! My favorite ironically named star! How was the premiere?" I sighed, making sure he couldn't hear it over the phone. "Fine," I replied tersely, not in the mood to chat.
"Man of few words as always. You must be exhausted... Well, so far, it looks like a huge hit! And I've got a little surprise for you." Damn. I hated Jackson's surprises, especially considering how eccentric he was. "I'm guessing the surprise is a week off by my pool?"
"HA! You and your jokes... not quite. We've already found your co-star! You'll meet them tomorrow. Anyway, gotta run—talk soon!"
WHAT. Did this man seriously hang up after dropping the bombshell that I had to start rehearsals tomorrow for a film I hadn't even seen the script for, just one day after the previous premiere? I was losing my mind. I shoved the phone back into my pocket and buried my head in my hands.
"Weren't the auditions supposed to start tomorrow?"
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
'Left, right, left, right…' I walked freely around the place, looking ahead while my feet moved almost automatically along the runway. Unlike most people in the modeling industry, I liked to inspect my workplace a couple of hours before I stepped onto it for the final show, not just during the “runway rehearsal,” which was when we all familiarized ourselves with the space and practiced our walk.I always put the most effort into those rehearsals, even though I didn’t really need to. Of course, I knew how to move on any type of runway, even with my eyes closed. I didn’t need to practice; I could outshine any of my colleagues without even trying. Beating simple amateurs was both too easy and entirely meaningless to me. My goal was to surpass myself.Every detail was crucial: the possible slope, final decorations, length, width, numbered seats for the guests. I had to memorize everything, so that when I stepped out, I could do so with the utmost precision because I, Engel Becker, never walked an imperfect runway. As I walked, I felt the polished floor beneath my feet, the soft echo of my steps resonating in the empty space. The soft lighting, just beginning to flicker on, gave me a sense of calm and control. This was my domain, and there was no room for error.‘Left, right, left, right…’ I repeated in my mind, not because I needed to remember, but because it centered me. Each step was a promise of perfection. Every movement was a statement of my dedication. I wasn’t seeking anyone else’s approval. My greatest rival had always been, and would always be, myself.I heard Katelyn call me from a distance. “Engel, not to rush you, but the show starts in an hour, and we need to get you dressed, made up, and styled NOW.” ‘Whatever.’ I sighed and followed her backstage with a smile. The area was moderately large, but it felt smaller due to the clutter of objects and people.The air was thick with a mix of perfumes, hairspray, and the electric energy of anticipation. The crew buzzed around frantically. As soon as I arrived, I undressed quickly, feeling the urgency in the air. They began to put on the outfit I was supposed to wear. The fabric was cold against my skin and perfectly framed my silhouette.While they styled my hair, the heat of the blow dryer and the gentle tug of the brushes kept me aware of every passing second. In no time, I found myself in another seat, this time in front of a woman focused on the brushes sweeping across my face. The soft bristles felt like feathers on my skin—a familiar sensation, though always a bit invasive. The various types of makeup used aimed to achieve a level of perfection that, in my opinion, I didn’t need.The bright lights of the mirrors illuminated every angle of my face equally, allowing me to see every precise movement of the makeup artist. Although I considered the makeup unnecessary, “industry etiquette” forced me to keep quiet about my complaints. If anything truly bothered me, I’d speak to my manager, Katelyn Taylor, who always made sure to meet my demands. I saw her moving around the space, overseeing every detail. Her efficiency and ability to keep everything under control gave me a sense of security, even amid the chaos before a runway show.I looked at my reflection in the mirror, watching as the image of Engel Becker, the perfect model, took shape before me. Good. This was my specialty—everything had to be in place, and for now, everything was going perfectly.When the signal came for the models to line up backstage, we all stood in formation, waiting for our cues. One by one, we walked out when directed. I was the one chosen to close the show, the final appearance before the designer, or sometimes even the host. This was the most crucial role of the main event, and there was no better person for the job than me.Designers fought to have me in their shows. Their “precious” outfits were far less important than my presence. I could walk the runway in a garbage bag if I wanted, and the show would still be a massive success. That was the effect I had—the Engel Becker effect.As I waited for my turn, I could feel the subtle vibration of the music beneath my feet and the expectant murmur of the audience beyond the curtain. The energy was palpable, and every second stretched like a wire. I watched my colleagues step out one by one, each with their own style, but I knew the highlight of the show was reserved for me.When my turn finally came, I took a deep breath and stepped into the blinding light of the spotlights. The runway stretched out before me, and each step I took was charged with precision and confidence. The audience's eyes locked on me, and I could feel their admiration and awe. The flashes from the cameras intensified as soon as I appeared. Every movement was calculated, every gesture rehearsed to perfection.Once my relatively short walk was over, I returned backstage, where I finally got to rest and check my phone. Crossing the event off my calendar gave me a sense of relief. I opened my messages and saw a missed call from my father—completely unexpected. I quickly called him back, and to my surprise, he answered instantly.“Hey... I thought you'd be busy all week... Did you watch my show?” I asked, a hint of restraint in my voice. It wasn’t that we had a bad relationship, it was just strange to talk to him without scheduling it beforehand.“Show? I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ve got a surprise for you, Engel. After pulling a few strings, I just got you a job. It’s going to rocket your career to new heights!” He sounded enthusiastic, but something inside me tightened. ‘A job offer… how odd…’ I sighed softly and kept listening. I never had trouble landing jobs; I had countless offers from big-name brands, but something told me this job had nothing to do with modeling.“Son… I’ve secured you a lead role in a movie. You start tomorrow.” ‘Excuse me?’ For a moment, my eyes lit up. It’s not that I wanted to become an actor, but it was definitely an intriguing option. Then it hit me—I had no film training whatsoever.“Thanks, Dad… but, this would be my first time acting,” I tried to protest, but he cut me off sharply.“No ‘buts,’ Engel. You don’t have to worry. It’s just an amateur gig. Besides, model... actor... not much of a difference.”“Well, act—” I tried to argue, but he hung up before I could finish, without even saying goodbye, as if I were one of his employees. That’s how he always operated.The dead line left a bitter taste in my mouth. Sitting in the small backstage corner, surrounded by hanging clothes and the hum of people still moving frantically, I felt trapped between pride for the opportunity and frustration at how it had been handled. Despite everything, I couldn’t deny that a part of me was excited. I took a deep breath, trying to calm the unease inside me. Tomorrow, I had a new job.