Rosé or Roseanne?

PARIS FASHION SHOW

Author's POV 

Paris fashion week, the biggest fashion show in the world: the shiny red carpet lays on the elaborate runway, strobe lights dancing on each side, where every outfit, every pose is being savored and enjoyed, a piece of art itself. 

This year, the model who the world is waiting for, is Rosé. 

"When is Rosé coming out?" Whispers a reporter to his partner. 

"Somewhere around the middle, since she is the face of the Piskissa."

(Piskissa is a fashion brand name)

"It's such a shame she only does Piskissa, the world will explode if she works with brands like Chanel."

"Piskissa is one of the top brands too! But they are hella strict with their models, I wonder how the models survive with all of these restrictions, real lucky they find Rosé."

"Rosé wasn't even a professional model when she was hired, that's why." The reporter explains to his friend, "I heard she pulled some strings to be there, even with her looks, Piskissa isn't the company who have the time and patience to hire a complete newbie."

"Newbie? Look at her now, she rules the fashion world. What you just said could be true, since Rosé and the creative director Jungkook is kinda dating--"

Suddenly the two reporters stop talking and raise their cameras eagerly, hoping to get a good shot at the model who just steps onto the runway.

Rosé. 

She is modeling a light, airy look. She is wearing a pale blue dress, long and loose, made of soft, satiny fabric, her luscious honey-blond hair fall past her shoulders. On the small ribbon on her wrist, sits a single light green rose, giving off the refreshing scent of flowers and forests. There are no expressions on her face, but her angelic looks still stand out: Her captivating eyes, sharp, tall nose, and her slim, willowy figure, so elegant, so breathtaking. 

No one needs to say Rosé is the most stunning tonight, she knows it. 

Rosé's POV 

I push open my resting room, my body had been nagging for me to kick off my shoes ever since I put my feet inside these five inches heels, these things are pretty but deadly. Now it's time for me to relax. 

"Hey." Someone puts his hands between the gap between the door, his long, thin fingers are seconds from being crushed on. Jeon Jungkook is the fashion genius, but talk about survival instincts, he is a noob.  

I bat his hands away from the gap, "What do you want?" I say to the creative director of Piskissa, my... em, nothing.

He flashes me an easy smile, "Just want to come and see you, and, congrats." 

"Stop acting modest," I chuckle, it's weird watching his polite self, "I bet you are having a mini party for yourself inside."

He laughs, "Sure." Then points at my feet, "Might want to take that off."

Oh yeah, rest in peace, my poor toes. I peer down and wince, "What? That's public space, Jungkook."

"I don't want bloodstains on my shoes, or on the floor," He says, I can almost see his inner devil horns popping up as he pushes open my door as if he owns the place, I mean, he kinda does. "Sit down, I want to treat your feet."

I roll my eyes and sit myself down on the soft velvet sofa, watching him peeling off the wrapper of plaster, I find myself smiling. Honestly, it's stupid, he is annoying, evil behind his innocent looks, sometimes he is fine, kinda considerate and nice, just when do I grow attached to him so much? Lisa says it's gratitude, to repay his kindness because he is the one who leads me to the modeling path, but...