Work Text:
SPRING | NOW
“You can’t post shit like that, Rio,” Gretchen tells him calmly. “Everyone can see it, designers, agencies, your grandmother,” she stresses, her tone of voice tinged with a familiar softness that he doesn’t hear often, but knows she’s chiding him.
She’s tapping her pen against the table in that way she does when she’s trying to channel all of her frustration into a single source.
“Oh, come on Gretch’ they love that shit,” he wheezes out a laugh as quietly as he can. “And Rosa thought it was funny.”
Yeah, he’d been a little trigger happy that night, a little drunk too when he’d posted.
Gretchen tosses the pen to the side and purses her lips. “I didn’t even get an invite.”
He shifts in the chair, shrugs noncommittally, and grins.
“I know, but that was kinda’ the whole point.”
“And she’s okay with that?”
“Yeah, about that,” he sighs and leans forward. “I wanna’ relocate to New York.”
“New York?”
“We’re moving back home.”
Gretchen’s eyes widen in surprise, her mouth parting slightly as she repeats his words.
“ Home - home ,” she echoes. “Detroit?”
He nods as heat rushes up to his neck, and his jaw clenches at the inevitable round of questions he knows she’s about to fire his way.
Gretchen watches him for a beat and the quiet of the office would be awkward if they were strangers.
But they’re not, and Gretchen knows better than anyone else that he hasn’t been home in years and why.
“Alrighty then,” a smile breaks across Gretchen’s stoic face and she picks the abandoned pen back up only to point it at him menacingly. “And I want to meet her.”
He grins as the warmth spreads across his chest and into his stomach. “Yeah, we can arrange that.”
SUMMER | 9 MONTHS AGO
The photographer - Johnny or Joseph, Rio doesn’t remember or care, keeps touching him and Rio has to physically pull his hands behind his back to not swing on him.
He hates this part.
The prodding and priming, the touching.
Johnny drones on as Rio laces his fingers behind his back and turns his attention to his right at a bright-faced Elizabeth.
She’s smiling at the make-up artist in front of her who must say something funny because Elizabeth throws her head back and laughs.
Fuck.
He wishes she would look over, wishes he could get a glimpse of those bright blue eyes again.
When she’d walked into the make-up trailer a few hours ago without a stitch of make-up on her face he’d frozen as she’d extended her hand out in greeting. He didn’t know where to look first - those baby blues, the soft freckles across her cheeks, or the most tremendous rack he’s ever seen.
He’d googled her when Gretchen told him she’d booked this campaign, and when he found nothing but one shitty Gap campaign after another he’d forgotten all about Elizabeth Marks.
Johnny says her name, catching Rio’s attention and Elizabeth’s; then he’s touching Rio again, pushing him into position and giving them both direction.
She stares at Johnny as he talks and Rio doesn’t get to see those eyes before she’s pressed up against his chest, back to front.
It’s the familiar sound of the shutter - barely audible over the music and Johnny, that snaps Rio to the present.
Or maybe it's Elizabeth because she shifts slightly and accidentally steps on his bare toe.
“Oh, sorry,” she exhales quietly and shuffles again.
“You’re good,” he rasps and moves with her, remembering there’s a camera pointed at them.
“He speaks,” she whispers again, teasing.
The shutter ceases as Johnny puts the camera down only long enough to direct Elizabeth to adjust her stance again.
She rotates her body to push her shoulder against his chest giving him a glimpse of blue.
Johnny yells out how stunning they look for the fourth time in ten minutes and Rio realizes he hasn’t looked at the camera once.
It’s an hour of hell - between the blazing lights overhead, Johnny’s constant need to speak, and Elizabeth’s soft body pressed against his, Rio’s ready to chuck himself off the balcony.
Johnny's speaking again - Rio doesn’t even hear the direction before he groans and Elizabeth giggles.
“Stunning,” Rio whispers into her hair, mimicking Johnny’s last compliment.
She laughs again and fuck, he wants to hear it again and again.
When she leans her head back against him it brings her closer and he has to physically restrain himself from burying his nose into her skin.
“You smell good, Abercombie.”
She does and nothing like the musky perfume they’re shooting for, softer, like Peaches.
“Thank you,” she whispers and finally blinks up at him.
Hours later, when he’s in the trailer again wiping makeup off his chest he gets the last glimpse of her for a while.
She’s dressed in the same clothes from the morning, all the make-up from the day gone from her face. When the door creaks shut behind her he finds her face in the mirror as her eyes drop across his bare chest.
He grins. “You lost, Abercrombie?”
She blinks at his voice and her eyes flick up to meet his own just as he turns to face her.
“My name is - “
“Elizabeth, I know,” he steps closer and she lifts her chin to keep his gaze.
“Then use it.”
He grins. “You wanna hear me say your name? “
“Yes.”
Another step brings him close enough to touch her, and he doesn’t miss the way her full body sways towards him.
“You gonna have to make me, darlin’.”
Her eyes are hooded and darker than they were this morning when he lowers his head.
All he can think about is if she tastes as good as she smells.
Only the door of the trailer blasts wide open a second before he can find out and Elizabeth steps back with a sharp breath.
FALL
He remembers the morning he’d gotten the campaign outtakes from Gretchen, remembers the way his heart had picked up against his chest as he’d fumbled to get the attachments open half asleep.
He’d never been the kind to study his portfolio, to study the outtakes and review notes from directors.
Truth be told, he didn’t give a shit about the work. It was a paycheck and nothing more.
But that morning he’d pulled the pictures up on his phone and painstakingly zoomed on every fucking shot.
Then he’d texted her.
She’s right, there were a lot and they’d all been cut for the same reason.
Him.
In almost every outtake he was looking at Elizabeth and not the camera. If he wasn’t gaping at her with his mouth wide open, then his face wasn't visible ‘cause he’d buried it in her hair.
Fuck.
Paris.
But he already knew that, he’d asked Gretchen after he’d booked the Versace show who else was walking and the look she’d shot him from behind her massive mahogany table was cold enough to shrivel his balls. They’d grown up together, and Gretchen knew him better than anyone in LA. She knew he didn’t give a fuck about the industry or anyone in it.
They didn’t walk in any shows together but she’d come to the Versace show even though she didn’t walk in it.
He’d closed out the show that night - a big fucking deal, and it took all he had in him to not fucking look at her.
She’d smiled though, as the lights flashed and everyone stood to clap, she’d smiled and he fuckin’ knew it was for him and no one else.
WINTER
