Call Me Yours [BL]

Chapter 12

Valen meets Kahili when he's 22 and Valentine is a steadily rising name in the modeling industry.

Valentine sprawls across the deep maroon envelope his manager leaves on his vanity in neat, handwritten cursive. Valen weighs the letter in his hand as a steady buzz echoes in his temporary dressing room. Its aggressor, an old and broken fan, does little to subdue the rising heat. Still, he keeps it going. The buzz brings a comfort that silence cannot.

Valen opens the letter.

I designed this with you in mind.

It's signed, Kahili Wailani.

The letter feels weighted and alive in Valen's hands. He handles it with unnecessary care as his eyes take in every fine detail. His hands are damp, he wipes them on his robe, and he stares until he's sure he's memorized the distinct stroke of Kahili's pen. It's unintentional and unconscious. He stares at the design until it's no longer a promise on paper, of what could become and be, and instead a wish.

He stares until his dressing room door swings open and he's called for an outfit change.

The letter folds closed.

Valen stands.

"What did it say?" his manager asks.

Valen thinks of the immaculate sketches and the heavy-handed cursive. I think you'd look lovely in red. "Nothing," he answers softly.

Later, after he's picked Clementine up from school and they're picking out groceries, Valen's steps slow when they pass the greeting cards. His eyes catch on the envelopes—a pristine maroon that matches the red of Kahili's design to a tee. Valen's fingers skim the envelopes. He grabs it.

"What's that for?" Clementine asks.

"Nothing," he answers softly.

Valen holds out a handwritten letter to his manager the next day. His manager's eyebrows shoot up, a silent question etched in them. A question Valen deliberately ignores in favor of watching himself in the vanity mirror.

The yellow turtleneck doesn't suit him.

Eye contact, Valen!

It's said again and again. Enough times for his manager to coax the director into a break. He feels eyes of annoyance on him when he walks off the stage. His fingers twitch in his lap when he sits and his manager hands him a water bottle.

He's having an off day.

The break does little to help.

"I can't have a lead that can't even look at the camera!" The director looks two more mistakes off from telling Valen to get off his stage. The designer's clothes feel wrong on Valen's skin, yellow and loud and unremarkable. He wishes for the quiet buzz of his dressing room, but someone took his fan. It was an immediate and startling revelation he had walking into work today.