Michael Aaron Hart (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
justalittlecrush) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
dreamlikenewyork2016-09-25 10:45 pm
justalittlecrush) wrote in dreamlikenewyork2016-09-25 10:45 pm
"Walk, walk, fashion, baby."
Who: Michael Hart with Paris Hart and anyone else who happens to be there
What: Bad romance
Where: London Fashion Week, London
When: After THIS
Fashion Week, no matter what city, was always a huge deal in the fashion world. London Fashion Week that year was feeling like a reunion for Michael. He was there, as always, with Paris. He had been pretty much going everywhere with Paris since he got the job with him. The only difference was that now they were married, he was with Paris as his husband and Plus One, rather than as his PA.
Ajay and Billy were also there, which was nice, because Ajay was back in the saddle and Billy had moved on to his role in Broadway (and an awful set-back with cancer). Having them both there was a treat. Lincoln had arrived for a brief appearance with Clint, something that had created a flurry of activity because it was Lincoln's first public appearance since he had been stabbed. The press were all over that, and then some, trying to nail an exclusive with him, and none of the basic bitches realising he had already signed for an exclusive interview with FABULOUS about the stabbing. Tristan had invited Caden as his date, so that was new. Harley and Julian had just flown in for the main event. Even Michael's sister, Charlotte, was there with her latest sexy girl toy on her arm.
Michael sipped his glass of champagne and watched in amusement as his sister, a Modelling Agent, was in the midst of head-hunting one of the waiters milling around and just trying to do his job. He had to admit, though, that the guy was hot and had a unique look to him, so he wasn't surprised that Charlie was trying to nab him for her books. It could well be the last time he was serving canapes at a Fashion Week soiree, and he could be up on the catwalk himself in the future.
He, Caden and Clint had stepped back from the main throng of fashionistas doing their thing, and were chatting together. The millions that were under that roof in outfits was mindblowing. Michael was still what many there would term a basic bitch himself. He just happened to be married to one of the biggest Fashion Bitches in the industry, so all this was just life. He was used to it. Shopping actually bored the hell out of him, but that was fine, because Paris had a ball shopping for him. Then when Paris got home, he was in such a good mood from exercising his gold card that he was horny and Michael got thoroughly fucked. It was the best of both worlds for their marriage.
He was glad this party was the end of the event, though. You could only see so many catwalk shows of latest collections before you started to daydream about something like going to a pub for a few bears and playing a few games of Pool. Maybe even sitting in front of the TV with his hands down his pants watching reruns of The Simpsons. You got tired of perfect. Even over the months since his crush on Paris had been exposed and they started to officially date, Paris had chilled on being perfect all the time. That wasn't to say he wasn't always perfectly poised and groomed, but he did get involved in the odd blokey thing with Michael these days, especially now that Marty, Michael's identical twin brother, was back from a tour of duty and part of their lives.
Fighting the urge to yawn, Michael watched Caden discreetly and subtly checking out Tristan's ass through the crowd. He had been asking Tristan about this latest development on Facebook, and it seemed they had been seeing each other on the hush for a little while, but had kept it discreet because of Caden's public break-up with Casper, and also all the fingers in Broadway pies Caden had. You had to keep your private life protected or it would get messy. He was just about to call Caden out on it and issue a bit of light-hearted teasing when he suddenly heard someone cry out, "PARIS!"
Michael's head whipped around in a panic, not sure what the hell was going on. He wasn't even immediately able to find out because there were so many people there in that venue. It was packed. There was commotion off to the left and Michael shoved his glass in Caden's hand to try to push through the bodies all trying to get closer to see what was happening. "What is it?! What's going on?! What happened?" he demanded as soon as he was close enough to Charlotte. She had been closer to where the commotion was exploding than he had.
That was when he was close enough to see someone was on the polished floor of this ballroom and people were huddling to try to help them. He could see it was Paris just by the outfit and suddenly he wasn't being so polite trying to get through the crowds. He was shoving people roughly out of the way and swearing at them. Pretty uncharacteristic for him, but he couldn't help it. Why the hell was Paris on the floor?! This was Paris, there was no way he got embarrassingly drunk enough to fall over at Fashion Week, and it was highly unlikely he just decided to start break-dancing.
Finally, he made it to where Paris was lying. He was out cold. "What happened? What the fuck happened? I'm his husband! Tell me what happened." Not many people there wouldn't know who Paris Hart's husband was. It had been a pretty big event at the time when Paris revealed he was marrying his Personal Assistant. It was probably the equivalent to royalty marrying the hired help back in the old days. The fashion world was most certainly like royalty in the class system of modern society.
Nearby, a woman dripping in Prada with the latest iPhone to her ear was saying the ambulance was coming. What? Ambulance? "He passed out," Harley explained, coming up to Michael and taking his arm. "He seemed fine one minute, the next, he was down. Was he feeling okay?"
"He was fine!" Michael cried, pulling away to crouch down beside where Paris was sprawled. "Paris? Paris! Can you hear me? It's Mikey." He gave him a little shake, but Paris wasn't rousing at all. He hated that he was checking for blood before breathing or a pulse, but after what happened to Lincoln, who could blame him? "Can you all just move the fuck back and stop crowding him, for fuck's sake!" Paris was breathing, but his breaths were coming out in shallow pants and when he checked his pulse, he found it was racing.
Around them, people were murmuring, pointing and whispering. Rumours would already be starting, gossips trying to connect their own dots on why Paris Hart, King of FABULOUS, passed out cold at Fashion Week. Michael's heart was up in his throat with panic, and he was pretty sure that never in his life had he hated the shallowness of the fashion world than he had right now.
NARRATIVE, COMPLETE
What: Bad romance
Where: London Fashion Week, London
When: After THIS
Fashion Week, no matter what city, was always a huge deal in the fashion world. London Fashion Week that year was feeling like a reunion for Michael. He was there, as always, with Paris. He had been pretty much going everywhere with Paris since he got the job with him. The only difference was that now they were married, he was with Paris as his husband and Plus One, rather than as his PA.
Ajay and Billy were also there, which was nice, because Ajay was back in the saddle and Billy had moved on to his role in Broadway (and an awful set-back with cancer). Having them both there was a treat. Lincoln had arrived for a brief appearance with Clint, something that had created a flurry of activity because it was Lincoln's first public appearance since he had been stabbed. The press were all over that, and then some, trying to nail an exclusive with him, and none of the basic bitches realising he had already signed for an exclusive interview with FABULOUS about the stabbing. Tristan had invited Caden as his date, so that was new. Harley and Julian had just flown in for the main event. Even Michael's sister, Charlotte, was there with her latest sexy girl toy on her arm.
Michael sipped his glass of champagne and watched in amusement as his sister, a Modelling Agent, was in the midst of head-hunting one of the waiters milling around and just trying to do his job. He had to admit, though, that the guy was hot and had a unique look to him, so he wasn't surprised that Charlie was trying to nab him for her books. It could well be the last time he was serving canapes at a Fashion Week soiree, and he could be up on the catwalk himself in the future.
He, Caden and Clint had stepped back from the main throng of fashionistas doing their thing, and were chatting together. The millions that were under that roof in outfits was mindblowing. Michael was still what many there would term a basic bitch himself. He just happened to be married to one of the biggest Fashion Bitches in the industry, so all this was just life. He was used to it. Shopping actually bored the hell out of him, but that was fine, because Paris had a ball shopping for him. Then when Paris got home, he was in such a good mood from exercising his gold card that he was horny and Michael got thoroughly fucked. It was the best of both worlds for their marriage.
He was glad this party was the end of the event, though. You could only see so many catwalk shows of latest collections before you started to daydream about something like going to a pub for a few bears and playing a few games of Pool. Maybe even sitting in front of the TV with his hands down his pants watching reruns of The Simpsons. You got tired of perfect. Even over the months since his crush on Paris had been exposed and they started to officially date, Paris had chilled on being perfect all the time. That wasn't to say he wasn't always perfectly poised and groomed, but he did get involved in the odd blokey thing with Michael these days, especially now that Marty, Michael's identical twin brother, was back from a tour of duty and part of their lives.
Fighting the urge to yawn, Michael watched Caden discreetly and subtly checking out Tristan's ass through the crowd. He had been asking Tristan about this latest development on Facebook, and it seemed they had been seeing each other on the hush for a little while, but had kept it discreet because of Caden's public break-up with Casper, and also all the fingers in Broadway pies Caden had. You had to keep your private life protected or it would get messy. He was just about to call Caden out on it and issue a bit of light-hearted teasing when he suddenly heard someone cry out, "PARIS!"
Michael's head whipped around in a panic, not sure what the hell was going on. He wasn't even immediately able to find out because there were so many people there in that venue. It was packed. There was commotion off to the left and Michael shoved his glass in Caden's hand to try to push through the bodies all trying to get closer to see what was happening. "What is it?! What's going on?! What happened?" he demanded as soon as he was close enough to Charlotte. She had been closer to where the commotion was exploding than he had.
That was when he was close enough to see someone was on the polished floor of this ballroom and people were huddling to try to help them. He could see it was Paris just by the outfit and suddenly he wasn't being so polite trying to get through the crowds. He was shoving people roughly out of the way and swearing at them. Pretty uncharacteristic for him, but he couldn't help it. Why the hell was Paris on the floor?! This was Paris, there was no way he got embarrassingly drunk enough to fall over at Fashion Week, and it was highly unlikely he just decided to start break-dancing.
Finally, he made it to where Paris was lying. He was out cold. "What happened? What the fuck happened? I'm his husband! Tell me what happened." Not many people there wouldn't know who Paris Hart's husband was. It had been a pretty big event at the time when Paris revealed he was marrying his Personal Assistant. It was probably the equivalent to royalty marrying the hired help back in the old days. The fashion world was most certainly like royalty in the class system of modern society.
Nearby, a woman dripping in Prada with the latest iPhone to her ear was saying the ambulance was coming. What? Ambulance? "He passed out," Harley explained, coming up to Michael and taking his arm. "He seemed fine one minute, the next, he was down. Was he feeling okay?"
"He was fine!" Michael cried, pulling away to crouch down beside where Paris was sprawled. "Paris? Paris! Can you hear me? It's Mikey." He gave him a little shake, but Paris wasn't rousing at all. He hated that he was checking for blood before breathing or a pulse, but after what happened to Lincoln, who could blame him? "Can you all just move the fuck back and stop crowding him, for fuck's sake!" Paris was breathing, but his breaths were coming out in shallow pants and when he checked his pulse, he found it was racing.
Around them, people were murmuring, pointing and whispering. Rumours would already be starting, gossips trying to connect their own dots on why Paris Hart, King of FABULOUS, passed out cold at Fashion Week. Michael's heart was up in his throat with panic, and he was pretty sure that never in his life had he hated the shallowness of the fashion world than he had right now.
NARRATIVE, COMPLETE