06.

EROS’S POV.

I stood motionless, shocked, and covered in a layer of vomit from the chest down. A hush fell on the room for a brief moment, before the silence was broken by several gasps, followed shortly by the sound of clicking cameras, and flashes. The situation had not yet fully registered in my brain, until I turned to meet Jeffrey's terrified eyes. He seemed frozen to one spot, with his mouth hanging open, as the very person responsible for the mess ran off of the stage, and out of the room.

"Damn, who's that?" A high pitched voice from the audience said. The voice was laced in malicious intent, whoever had spoken those words intended only to cause a stir. Aside that, it sounded pretty generic, like it could belong to just anyone. I rolled my eyes at the thought straightened my back and turned back to the crowd, and smiled in a way that felt vaguely out of character.

"That, is somebody who may have already had a bit too much to drink." I retorted, and chuckled lightly. The joke earned a buzz of laughter from the crowd. "If you'll excuse me, it appears I need a change of clothes. MELT and West, everybody." The screen behind us lit up as a short introductory film began to play , and the room erupted with applause, while Jeffery and I descended steps which led off the stage.

As my eyes rummaged through the endless faces in the crowd, I finally caught sight of my stylist, Juan. He stood upright, stricken with terror. His eyes wide, and his fingers latched unto both sides of his face, like he was attempting to peel his own skin off. A small woman with red hair seemed to pull him out of his trave with the touch of his elbow. Juan bent lower, and whispered in her ear, before pointing towards one of the emergency doors. I nodded and began making my way towards the exit, when I Jeffrey blew passed me.

"Well, someone's getting fired tonight." I said, to no one in particular, before the woman Juan had been whispering to approached me.

"Mr, West, right this way please." She struggled to keep her gaze above my chest, her eyes darting frequently to the beige stains Dalia had been so kind to leave on my clothes. The woman brought a hand to her face, covering her mouth and nose, as if to hide her obvious repulsion, and led me away from the auditorium.

We walked down the hallway towards the elevator, passing the restrooms on the way. Standing in the doorway of the women's restroom was Jeffery. His back was turned to us, and he seemed to be speaking to someone inside. I assumed he must be completely lashing out at that assistant of his, and decided not to interrupt.

When we reached the top floor, the lady let me to a suite, inside was a team of designers and stylists waiting for me. Each of them staring eagerly at me, rehearsed smiles that contrasted too greatly with the burning desire in their eyes. They had laid out multiple outfits for me to choose from. Outfits which matched my taste and style in a way that made me feel like this improtu wardrobe change was on fact anticipated.

"Everyone here is at your service, sir." The small lady beamed, as a strode over to the mirror that covered one of the walls.

"Thank you. Your name?" I began to undress myself. A tall, slender man with platinum blonde hair rushed to my side, assisting me as I took the soiled clothes off one by one.

"Isaiah, You modelled one of my designs back in twenty-fifteen, Mr. West. It's an honour to meet you again." He chimed, folding my shirt into a neat square, and dropping it into a big plastic bag.

"Hm." Is all I could say. Some part of me wanted to tell Isaiah the question was not directed at him, that I had no interest in getting acquainted with the people in tbis room. However, the better part of me admired how quick he was to jump at an opportunity. If younger me had met me now, I would've done the same. I looked up in the mirror and gave him a tight smile, to which he returned one much bigger.

The red head woman had been called back downstairs, and so she left me in Isaiah's care, only after confirming that I did not mind. I assured her I could manage well enough, and began looking through the outfits as soon as she left.

"You say, I modelled something you designed once?" I said to Isaiah, who trailed behind me closely, picking the items I selected off their racks as we went through everything presented in the room.

"Indeed, sir. During the New York fashion week in twenty-fifteen."

"Ah, I see. That was a great one." It was just then it hit me. I spun around in a single motion, and looked him up and down. "Isaiah Crawford! You're brilliant." I say, a little too excitedly. He let out a chuckle and nods.

"Well, not too many believe the genius part."

"Don't be modest now. Your pieces got me in the highlights." We moved back to the mirror and Isaiah began handing me the clothes. I settled on a black, silk blouse with buttons and long sleeves, and paired it with a black, pleated, cotton skirt that stopped around my ankles. The skirt was adorned with golden chains that varied in size, around the waist, and a golden zipper at the side. For shoes, Isaiah picked out a pair of short, suade boots with laces, a choice I very much agreed with. Fashion had changed immensely since I last worked with Isaiah. I imagined how well he would do in this new, progressive era with the right platform.

"You look great, Mr. West." Isaiah said, watching me straighten out my clothes. "Just, one thing." He moved in, and undid the first three buttons of my blouse, exposing my chest. "There." He said, stepping back to take in the finished look.

"How would you like a job, Isaiah?"