Chapter Text
New York Fashion Week is… overwhelming.
Honestly, Seonghwa has no idea how he’s gone from small-time Instagram fashion influencer with a few thousand followers to being at New York Fashion Week. Even though he was personally invited, Seonghwa’s out of his depth. Which isn’t even saying anything—the brand’s designer is just his ex-boyfriend, current best friend Minho’s boyfriend’s best friend. Or other boyfriend? Whatever.
The point is Jeongin is his friend too, and it’s Jeongin’s show. He’d tried to get Seonghwa to model, but that felt like… Yeah, no. Seonghwa is proud of everything he’s accomplished and he can almost believe he belongs at New York Fashion Week, but modeling? Not even a little.
Part of Seonghwa still lives in his college dorm at USC, taking pictures on his phone’s camera and swearing his way through learning Lightroom to edit them. He’s some pretty omega with a few thousand followers and baffled how he even got that popular.
But Seonghwa isn’t that omega anymore. He’s a bona fide fashion influencer with a million followers who gets invited to New York Fashion Week—even if he’s there because Jeongin was worried that if he didn’t make Seonghwa come, then nobody would be at his show. There’s a decent number of people, but Jeongin sat Seonghwa in the first row anyway. For moral support, because Seonghwa’s always been his biggest supporter.
“You look like you’re going to throw up,” Seungmin says. He reaches inside his jacket and pulls out a flask. “Here, drink this. You’ll feel better.”
“Does Jeongin know you have this?” Seonghwa takes the flask and unscrews the top, knocking back a healthy swig of it. The alcohol settles his nerves a little. “Thanks.”
“Are you asking if Jeongin, who made this jacket because quote ‘I’m not letting you show up in your Tarjay best,’ knows about the flask I put into the flask pocket he added for my flask?” Seungmin raises an eyebrow as he drinks from the flask. “Really, Seonghwa? You know better.”
That’s fair. Seonghwa’s dress, also made by Jeongin, has a special pocket to hold his phone. Seonghwa’s about to snark back when someone sits down and the other night’s vanilla-brown sugar bourbon cocktail is his every thought. The bartender smoked the glass with cherry wood, a hint of burnt acridness under the burn of the alcohol and the sweetness of the vanilla-infused sugar.
“Hwa,” Seungmin says, concern creeping into his voice, “you okay?”
“Yeah.” Seonghwa forces himself not to turn to talk to the person who just sat down. “I’m just nervous. I want our baby to do well.”
Seungmin pats Seonghwa’s shoulder and then it’s time for the show. Everything is beautiful and the perfect culmination of Jeongin stressing out for six months straight and fussing about every detail. Seeing everything go smoothly makes Seonghwa want to cry, and immediately after the show, he walks straight over to Jeongin and hugs him.
“My baby,” Seonghwa says, “all grown up and presenting collections at fashion week!”
“You’re embarrassing me.” Jeongin’s grumbling, but he makes no move to get out of Seonghwa’s hug. “Unnie, you’re so embarrassing.”
“Good job, babe.” Seungmin pats Jeongin’s shoulder and Seonghwa thinks that anyone looking at the scene would mistake who the boyfriend is between him and Seungmin. He can’t help it, though. “Hwa, can you let go of my boyfriend before he expires? I need him for later tonight.”
Reluctantly, Seonghwa lets go. He supposes it’s important for Jeongin to talk to other people, since these things are half about networking. Before he steps away, though, Seonghwa brushes their cheeks together in a friendly scenting. It makes Jeongin blush, but he accepts Seonghwa’s scenting without complaint.
Then Jeongin’s moving away to talk to other people, Seungmin by his side, and Seonghwa’s thinking about leaving when he smells the scent from earlier again. It’s harder to pick out when it’s not right next to him, but Seonghwa follows it until it leads him to someone Seonghwa recognizes is also wearing a custom outfit. He doesn’t recognize the designer, but that’s not saying much. Despite his fashion minor and being a fashion influencer, Seonghwa’s still new to the world of fashion houses. Modern ones, anyway. Most of his content and work involves thrifting and buying solid pieces he styles for a week to show versatility. What little doesn’t is collaboration with Jeongin or little fashion history videos about thrifted pieces he picks up.
“Hi,” Seonghwa says, “I didn’t get your name before the show. I’m Seonghwa.”
Seonghwa sees the subtle way the other man’s nostrils flare, trying to get a sense of Seonghwa’s scent, and the way his brows draw together when he can’t find it. He sees that exact expression all the time, because he almost never goes in public without extra-strength scent blockers on. Once, Minho asked if Seonghwa was ashamed of his scent. It’s not particularly omegan, woodsy maple with a slightly floral top note, and it would make sense for Seonghwa to hate it.
The scent blockers are less because he hates his scent and more because he hates people reading things into it. When people find out he’s an omega, they treat it like his scent is more important than the words coming out of his mouth. He doesn’t hate being an omega at all, but sometimes… It doesn’t matter. Seonghwa doesn’t owe people explanations for things he does to protect his peace.
“Hongjoong,” the other man says. He holds out his hand and Seonghwa takes it. Hongjoong’s painted his nails, hands soft, and Seonghwa thinks omega. He puts away the spark of attraction he feels—even if he’s attracted to omegas, it doesn’t mean Hongjoong is. “I saw you talking with the designer earlier.”
“Jeongin? That’s my baby.” Seonghwa gestures to his dress, a deep navy blue number made of fabric that shimmers like the night. Jeongin said he made it with all the stars in the sky, for his favorite star. “He made this too.”
“Why were you not on the runway?” Hongjoong steps closer, peering at the dress in a way Seonghwa recognizes from Jeongin. Analyzing. “The construction is exquisite.”
“I was just here to support Jeongin.” Seonghwa makes a note to tell Jeongin his work got complimented, even if he thinks he’s low-key being hit on. “He was afraid no one would show up, so I promised I would come and support him.”
There’s an absent nod from Hongjoong, most of his attention taken up by studying the dress. Seonghwa wonders if Hongjoong’s a designer too, then dismisses the thought. Jeongin’s told him about all the major omega-owned brands and a lot of the smaller ones, because he thought Seonghwa could do content about it. That’s in the works, but Seonghwa’s not made of money and designer’s expensive. He doesn’t remember any omega designers named Hongjoong, is the point. Maybe a model then—most omegas in the fashion industry are models. Or a fashion enthusiast like Seonghwa himself? Either way, Seonghwa turns to show off his favorite feature of the dress: the deep back, stopping just above his tailbone, held together with strings of pearls. He thinks Hongjoong’ll like it as much as him—if only because Seonghwa trusts Hongjoong will appreciate the craftsmanship.
Hongjoong’s scent deepens. Seonghwa thinks it’s in admiration rather than lust, but he doesn’t read much into scents. That’d be rude, since he doesn’t let people read things into his scent. Scents can convey certain information, but it’s not reliable to assign deep meaning to scents unless you know someone well. Jeongin’s scent gets sweet when he’s stressed, for example, and Seonghwa knows most people wouldn’t read it correctly without some knowledge of who Jeongin is as a person. Hongjoong’s a stranger, so Seonghwa doesn’t know enough to read his scent more than the general changes in his mood.
“This is custom,” Hongjoong says, appreciation clear in his tone. Seonghwa notes the sharp smell of bourbon and files the information away. “It was made for you, specifically.”
“Yes.” Seonghwa doesn’t say Jeongin made it to celebrate him reaching a million followers. That feels like it would be in poor taste. “Perks of having a designer for a friend, I guess.”
He means to speak with Hongjoong more, but someone calls for Hongjoong and he’s pulled away. Seonghwa thinks they’re ships passing in the night, which is why he’s surprised to be greeted by Hongjoong at the after party Jeongin begged him to come too. It’s not a hardship—Seonghwa loves a good party—but he’s alone, now that someone’s whisked Jeongin and Seungmin away.
“I hoped to see you again, Seonghwa.” There’s a smile on Hongjoong’s lips, and Seonghwa thinks it suits him. “Are you going to be at any other shows this week?”
“No.” Seonghwa shakes his head. “I’m not important enough to be invited to any other ones.”
That’s true, even if it sounds self-depreciating. Seonghwa’s thankful for every single one of his one million followers, but realistically? That’s small potatoes for an influencer—even if it feels crazy big. It’s not like he’s also a K-pop idol or former child star, so the one million followers is his real selling point and there’s no reason to invite him when they could invite people with more followers and influence.
“You should never say things like that about yourself.” Hongjoong’s frowning, brows drawn together in a way that makes Seonghwa want to reach out and smooth them. “Are you local? Would you want to go to another show?”
“I’m not local, but I’m here for the week.” Seonghwa can’t post any of it until he’s back in Los Angeles for safety, but it would be criminal to not make content while he’s in New York. Besides, Jeongin and Seungmin are planning some touristy things for them to do together. It’s been a while since they’ve hung out, what with Jeongin being busy perfecting his collection. “It’d be cool to see another show, if you’re offering.”
Seonghwa knows guests can bring a plus one—at least they could to Jeongin’s show. Minho’s touring with BTS and invited by Jeongin anyway, so Seonghwa didn’t, but it’d be nice to be delusional for a few hours and act as Hongjoong’s date to another show. Turns out Seonghwa didn’t over pack—he knew having outfits suitable for being photographed at New York Fashion week would pay off.
“Great! Let me give you my number so I can text you details.” Hongjoong holds out his hands, making a grabby motion. “And then we can get to know each other better too.”
Hand slipping into the pocket of his dress, Seonghwa retrieves his phone. Unlocking it, he opens a new contact and offers the phone to Hongjoong. He’d like being friends with Hongjoong, Seonghwa thinks. He doesn’t have many omega friends aside from Seungmin, so it’s kind of lonely sometimes. Not even in the sense that Seonghwa wants to talk about omega-specific concerns, but just in the sense that it’s nice to know there’s someone who shares his struggles. He wonders if Hongjoong lives in New York or he’s traveled from somewhere else too. If he grew up pressured to be perfect, because male omegas coloring outside the lines are too strange for society. Sometimes male omegas get lumped together with female betas and omegas, the same way female alphas get lumped together with male betas and alphas. Sometimes they’re considered abominations against nature. Sometimes they’re fetishized in a way that makes Seonghwa feel worse than being considered functionally a woman.
The topic feels like something Hongjoong has thoughts about. Seonghwa gets the sense, from his more masculine style, that maybe fashion means something similar to Hongjoong. It’s a place for expression. Who Seonghwa isn’t doesn’t matter so much when wrapped in art. Sometimes Seonghwa’s even seen as something other than simply omega.
“You said you’re not local,” Hongjoong says as he hands Seonghwa’s phone back. “Where are you from, then?”
“Los Angeles.” That’s not quite it, but Seonghwa’s learned not to say Torrance unless someone asks. Nobody outside of California cares about the intricacies of where you’re from. Seungmin’s from fucking Fullerton and he still says he’s from Los Angeles sometimes. “I went to USC, though, not FIDM.”
Seonghwa wanted to go to FIDM at one point, but then he realized he didn’t like designing or making clothing so much as he enjoyed wearing them. So instead Seonghwa got his English degree at USC with boy wonder Seungmin Kim and dance superstar Lee Minho, who now goes by Lee Know the way Seonghwa has become more starsnmars. They all met at an APASS mahjong event—Seonghwa, who was desperate to cling to his Korean heritage as a fourth generation Korean American; Seungmin, the second generation Korean American trying to balance being raised in America with his parents’ expectations; and Minho, the former idol trainee turned immigrant.
Jeongin was a later addition, brought to an off-campus APASS Pokémon event by someone he knew from back in Riverside. Riverside, which is primarily Latine, isolated him and Jeongin came to Los Angeles eager to finally make friends who looked like him. It helped, Seonghwa thinks, that they were a group of just betas and omegas.
“Really? I just moved there from Korea.” Hongjoong offers this information casually, like it’s nothing, and Seonghwa’s heart leaps in his throat. “Maybe you can show me around. Los Angeles? It feels… big.”
Understandable, Seonghwa thinks. Getting used to the sheer sprawl of Los Angeles takes getting used to. Where it starts and ends can be, in Seonghwa’s experience, hard to define and hard to articulate. Torrance isn’t part of Los Angeles the city, even if it’s in Los Angeles the county, but everything in Southern California gets a bit consumed by people only knowing one city in California—two if you’re lucky and they remember San Francisco exists. People think Disneyland’s in Los Angeles, not at least thirty minutes away in good traffic.
“That’d be fun.” Seonghwa opens a new text conversation with Hongjoong’s contact and sends a simple hi, this is seonghwa. “I can show you the best KBBQ place in town—and where H-Mart is, if you get homesick.”
“H-Mart?” Hongjoong tilts his head and Seonghwa thinks cute. It’s a very omegean action. “What is that?”
“The big Korean market. H-Mart for Koreans, Mitsuwa for Japanese, and 99 Ranch for Chinese.”
As Seonghwa’s saying this, he realizes it’s one of those things people don’t know, even though it feels second nature to him. Growing up Asian in the greater Los Angeles area means knowing these things in your bones, though. It’s going to the karaoke bar in Little Tokyo and singing anime openings and k-pop songs that are the only time you speak the language you were meant to grow up with. Being Asian in Torrance means you’re surrounded by people who look like you and, despite that, somehow you feel alone.
Some of that must show on his face, because Hongjoong’s brows draw together in concern.
“Sorry,” Seonghwa says, the omegean instinct to soothe taking over, “just thinking about how my favorite Chinese restaurant is closed for renovations right now.”
“You have to take me when it opens, then.” Hongjoong’s smile is easy, and Seonghwa decides it can be that easy. “I like trying new things.”
Would you like to try me forms on the tip of Seonghwa’s tongue and he swallows it down. That’s too forward for their second conversation. Seonghwa doesn’t even know if Hongjoong’s gay in any sense.
“Seonghwa. Seonghwaaaaaaaaa.” Jeongin wails, still the doe-eyed beta freshman Seonghwa adopted, and Seonghwa’s turned to see Jeongin’s pout before he even decides to. “Seungmin drank too much.”
For a single moment, Seonghwa resents Seungmin. Then the thought’s gone, because Seungmin’s his other baby. He loves them and Minho left the idiots in his care, so Seonghwa’s the omega friend right now.
“Go,” Hongjoong says. He smiles, and Seonghwa’s glad that Hongjoong understands. Omega things, of course. “Your friends need you.”
“Text me,” Seonghwa says. “We have to go to my favorite restaurant, yeah?”
Hongjoong nods, then makes a shooing motion. Seonghwa goes, looping Seungmin’s arms around his neck and picking him up like the overgrown baby he is. Jeongin holds onto Seonghwa’s skirt, following along after him, and Seonghwa feels his omegean instincts settle.
“Who were you talking to?” Jeongin sounds more curious than protective, words slurred on his tipsy tongue. “Did I cockblock you?”
“No.” That much Seonghwa knows. His other question, however, is trickier to answer. “He was just a new friend.”
“Oh, okay.” Jeongin plonks his head between Seonghwa’s shoulder blades. “You deserve all the friends, Seonghwa.”
Seonghwa stills, not wanting Jeongin to stumble. They’re always saying those things to him, but Seonghwa usually brushes it off. Right now, though, it feels wrong to discard Jeongin’s drunken honesty. So instead, Seonghwa shifts Seungmin in his arms.
“I know,” Seonghwa says. He just has to get himself to believe it. “I’m excited to see where it goes.”