Of course he’d hate it. He knew Blaine was going to hate it. Sebastian was usually blunt and straight to the point even with Blaine who could react quite badly, but for fucks sake he had to lie about this outfit being hotter. It was a stupid white lie so that he’d wear it without a fit but it seems Blaine has seen through the bullshit once again. Of course the thing was hideous but Blaine had agreed to do this fashion show. If he wasn’t going to do it the right way than what the hell was he going to tell the designer? Sebastian feels the headache coming on from just thinking about the mess alone that is Blaine having a diva meltdown and him having to go talk to her.
Green hues having a fed up glare in them, he hangs the outfit on the small silver rack of clothing and rolls his eyes. Why, despite his behavior, did Sebastian always want to continue pleasing him and assisting him? He could quit right now if he wanted but the thing is – he didn’t want to! It was a confusing mental war he had with himself every day. Plus of course he needed the money. Finally, arms cross against his chest and he raises an eyebrow. ❝But it was made custom for you. She can’t just put it on a fucking model and call it good. This is a fashion show, Mr. Anderson — to showcase her WORK. You’ve signed a contract agreeing to go out there wearing her clothes so its probably a good idea to wear the damn thing even if she did change it last minute.❞
Blaine can feel his pulse picking up the longer Sebastian insists that he put on the hot mess hanging from his hand. There was absolutely no amount of begging and pleading or going the opposite route with trying to use some tough love or logic that was going to change his mind. The press would have a field day with comments about what he looked like. His fans will think he’s on drugs or had some sort of mental fashion breakdown. AND that barely touches on the thousands of comments that will be waiting for him all over social media. Not that he cares what people say… Not at all. Oh God, he does Read one horrible review of yourself and you’ll never want to do it again. Or you’ll become something else to make sure that feeling never repeats itself.
Sebastian is doing his best to convince him to commit career suicide (okay, he’ll still wake up famous tomorrow but he’s getting worked up and this is getting worse by the minute) and he isn’t having anything of it. Long, thin fingers snap up with his palm facing his assistant. Both brows freeze in place as high up on his forehead as they can. Fire blazes behind his golden hazel eyes and ALLLL over his face is one word. N o. “If you bring that thing closer, I swear to God, I’ll find some scissors and turn that back into the Kleenex it was obviously made out of.” His fingers curl towards his palm and then both hands twist into tight fists shoved against hip bones barely covered by the waistband of his leather pants and belt. “Go tell her to find a model. Throw it in the trash where it belongs. Or…,” he decides..even better, “If she wants her entertainment to stick around and not tell her to go to hell? Don’t ask them to publically humiliate themselves or..they–aka I–am out of this hell.” And now we are entering Code Red. So says the tell tale biting of his bottom lip that warns..this is about to get even more UGLY.
It hadn’t been long that Sebastian obtained the job of working for the nationally known Blaine Anderson, star of the stage. Sebastian never even thought working as a damn personal assistant would be something he would ever end up doing. Being somewhere in the showbiz scene for sure, but this was a different turn. Hell, he should have his OWN personal assistants. But yet, he couldn’t deny the offer when he thought about being by Blaine’s side all the time. The superstar was hot, and that was not something Sebastian had the strength to deny. So far – the main realization he’s made is that Blaine has a definite…FLARE in him. He demands what he wants when he wants it and there’s no leeway. It was something that made a silenced rage grow in Sebastian yet it was all for some reason a bit intriguing.
Stepping into Blaine’s dressing room, Sebastian has a coffee in one hand and a flashy costume in the other. One with lots of leather and swarovski crystals. Blaine was doing a runway for one of the biggest designers around and he’d also be the performing act for the event. All he had to hope for now was that Blaine would take the news easily; The news that they wanted him to switch what he was wearing. There were many times Sebastian wanted to snap at the diva, but he wanted to keep this job so badly. ❝I have your coffee. Now THIS is your new costume. The designer wants you to switch before you come out and perform. Personally, I find this one to be hotter.❞
Blaine is secretly exhausted. Or not so secretly. Considering his mood gets worse the more tired he is and it’s measurable by the amount of attitude he dishes out to those around him. From tacking on as many add-this-subtract-that notes that can fit on the side of a Starbucks cup. To demanding everyone give him peace and quite for fifteen minutes, please?! No matter how many times he sends his assistant out to fetch coffee as fast as he can drink it–nothing is working. All he wants to do is finish this show and go back to the hotel so he can pass out until tomorrow. But there’s an after party he’s due at after the press junket which means tonight–that blended over from last night’s concert–is only a third of the way through.
A groan splits his lips open and hits his palm as he rubs the bridge of his nose. From where he’s slouched in his chair, booted feet kicked up on the vanity and crossed over one another–he snaps his head in the direction of the door opening. “Fifteen minutes! I said–oh,” he pauses when it’s Sebastian, “Good. It’s you.” Woah. Ignore the coffee–what the hell was in his other hand? Narrowing eyes burn a slow stare up Sebastian’s arm as he waits for an explanation. Once he receives it–there goes the eyebrow. “Well. Um. No,” his lips form a perfect circle but he’s unable to look away from the monstrosity hanging from Sebastian’s arm. “Tell her if she wants to wear that? She can wear it herself.” The get up looks like someone had a seizure while holding onto a bedazzler and clutching the latest fashions from the bin of a Goodwill discount store. It’s not going on his body. “Or you can if you think that’s hot. Which makes me question every time in the past you’ve told me I look good wearing something because that horror show? No. Not happening.” No. Way.
pianokeysandbowties back up 