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Summary:

"Somebody needs to tell that guy, that an A-list celebrity should wear something different than hoodies all the time. He is supposed to be and look French for heaven's sake, not like a scruffy simple-minded American."

or - Charles is a brutally honest fashion designer and critic, whose new target of criticism turns out to be Pierre - well-respected and fancied young actor, who doesn't give a flying damn about fashion until his manager decides that it is time to care and brings a personal fashion stylist to the team. None other than Charles himself.

Chapter 1: prologue

Summary:

Just a short prologue for the start.

Warning beforehand - this story will have extremely irregular updates since I have a busy life and burnouts quite often.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text


"Are you being serious right now? Am I really trending worldwide just because some posh Monegasque fashion critic said that I dress like an American? Only because I dare to wear hoodies when I go out with my dog? Who even is this guy?"

Saying that Pierre was outraged when he woke up into his name trending on Twitter solely because of getting roasted for his fashion sense was an understatement.

Those, who had the lovely privilege to know him personally were very well aware, that with his naturally vigorous character (as George oftentimes described the French man's attitude whenever it wasn't appropriate to swear and call him hotheaded dickhead) he had never been the most level-headed person when it came down to facing direct criticism and backlash, which for a public figure like him was reaching overwhelming depths and sizes, the regular mortal human-beings like us could hardly ever imagine.

It wasn't like he didn't know that the vast majority of the hateful comments, targeting him on all social media and even outside, away from the keyboards in the real world, had little to no constructive criticism he should take personally - he had enough of wits to see that the aversion filled comments were just a result of pure envy that should be nothing but disregarded, but still, even though he wanted to consider himself as a thick-skinned individual, that after so many years in the industry learned not to care about people looking down and pointing their fingers at him, deep down he did take every one of these remarks personally.

Some more, some less, it depended on what they chose to slander him for, but all of them had been stuck with him ever since they started targeting his publically displayed sensitive ego. Differently said, ever since his face and name were put out there for people to get entertained, dazzled, and infuriated by, which had been a decent number of years already.

To put the whole issue in a simple and straightforward way, Pierre couldn't care less about fashion.

He didn't care if he was or wasn't following the latest trends (whatever they even were as just keeping up with them seemed like an awfully exhausting activity in his eyes), if he himself was setting new fashion trends with the help of his popularity and influence coming hand in hand with it, nor if he was making it onto the front pages of the fashion magazines, from which Vogue was the only one he was properly aware of (much like all the other fashion-uninsightful individuals out there), despite the fact that he had never read a single page of it nor held it in his hands, to begin with.

His closet was just as boring and basic as of any other man's in his mid-twenties out there, who had his life dedicated to work and work only and who was on top of that depressingly single with no stress whatsoever to dress to impress someone, which was always the turning point for many people to revive their closet after years of wearing the same five t-shirts and one pair of jeans over and over again.

You could hardly find some exceptional high-end fashion brand pieces from the latest collections hidden in there, no matter how much effort and hopes you would put into it, and if you got yourself through the very limited content of it, you would eventually come to a realization that Pierre's closet was truly made almost entirely out of practical hoodies of all kinds for all four seasons, he had treasured more than one could imagine thanks to their ageless convenience.

Simply said, unlike many other of his celebrity colleagues, he didn't feel the urging need to look glamorous or downright bizarre and ridiculous every time he set his foot outside of his house or hotel room to go on a morning run or on a walk with his dog, in the spite of the so much esteemed celebrity title he possessed, which was setting unrealistic expectations for him in the eyes of many.

At the end of the day, why should he when no one normal did?

That was his perfectly reasonable logic and excuse for the lack of pizzazz in the fashion aspect of his life.

By putting the notoriously known two and two together after getting familiar with the amount of importance fashion held in his eyes, one would say that this time, he wouldn't give a flying damn that he had been slandered by someone, he had never even heard of before, for choosing comfort over unbearable fanciness, but Pierre did care, not only because being compared to an American, mattering to note, scruffy simple-minded American, was something he took more than personally as a proud European, but also because the comment didn't remain buried under a ton others as it usually did - it was trending and that meant that he couldn't just easily overlook it, get it from his head and social media feed and act as it had never existed.

What was supposed to be a fairly peaceful morning before the start of his packed schedule, turned out to be a disaster for his already wearied spirits and nerves. And not only his.

"That posh Monegasque fashion critic is a Dior designer, who undoubtedly knows way more about fashion than the two of us combined, and who also happens to be my old friend, Pierre, so I would appreciate it if you watched your tongue when talking about him-"

"Does that mean you agree with him? That I look like a scruffy simple-minded American? Just because he is your old friend?"

The British manager let out a frustrated sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose before picking up the scraps of the patience left inside of him and daring to look the visibly offended actor in the eyes again.

This definitely wasn't the first time George had to put up with an inflamed Pierre, it was anything, but a first time when he found himself arguing with the bull-headed French, and yet, even after all those years of having more than an admirable amount of practice in it, he still hadn't wrapped his head around any witty solution, which would bring Pierre to being reasonable arguer, seeing things objectively and in the way George did with at least a faint ability to understand and respect what was the other's (in the majority of cases the more rational) point of view.

A seemingly simple wish, which would make the Brit's stressful life much easier.

Working with Pierre overall was just one big attempt of everyone to bring the young, remarkably talented, and charismatic, but at the same time annoyingly stubborn and at many times concerningly bad-tempered actor to listen.

He was excellent in executing and listening to what he himself considered reasonable - if you as a director shared the same creative mindset with him, you could rely on him when it came down to bringing your dearest fantasies on the screen in a way so impeccable that no one else in the movie industry would be able to match, let alone surpass Pierre's performance -, but once you put him in front of something that went against his beliefs and likings, not even talking about hurting his ego, it was impossible to make him actually do it without losing your cool with the commendable amount of harsh stubbornness he was used to using as a defense mechanism against anything that didn't click with him.

The only difference between everyone else, who had the chance to be shockingly confronted with an uncompromising version of the captivating Pierre Gasly they knew from the television screen and treated him with the utmost respect, and George, who had been his manager for over five years already, was, that George had spent enough time around the French to come to a realization that the only way how to at least somewhat deal with the more than occasional unyielding moods of his, was to not be considerate during the arguing as well, even if that meant having the actor holding a grudge against him for days after having his pride hurt by a brutal honesty George sometimes decided to snap back with when all the previous friendly approaches miserably failed.

He was Pierre's friend and it always left a bitter aftertaste in his mouth when he had to cross the friendship lines with something relentlessly frank good friends would never say to each other unless being on a verge of separating, but at the end of the day, he was also the actor's manager and his job heavily, if not entirely, relied on Pierre doing what he was supposed to be doing in a manner he was asked to, which in his case could oftentimes never happen without a bit harsher nudge from George whenever the young celebrity started falling into his usual protesting and complaining habits.

"I have never said that I agree with the part where he called you scruffy simple-minded American. I only said that you should think twice before you call someone, who is my friend and whom you have never met, posh. It isn't exactly complimenting word if you allow me to remind you and I would be glad if it didn't accidentally slip out of your mouth out in the public. Trust me that you would learn how offensive it really is in a hard way if you did. But if you are desperate to know my opinion on what was said, then I do believe that Charles has made some valuable points in what he stated. Maybe it could be put out a bit more thoughtfully, I admit that, but you French and Monegasque people don't care about being polite when you are passionate about voicing your opinion.

At least you have finally tasted a scrap of your own delightful French medicine."

Before Pierre was able to put the deep inhale, he had immediately taken, into use and bicker back with George about feeling backstabbed by him with being told that Charles had a point when he roasted him online in front of thousands if not millions of people for something, in his opinion, as pathetic as a lack of an extraordinary fashion sense, the Brit sternly continued explaining what he wanted to say without giving the young actor a single opportunity to interrupt him and twist his unelaborated words once again.

"Look, I don't expect you to dress up when you are taking Nala for a walk, nor when you are heading to the gym to sweat your ass off, but you have been in the industry ever since you were eleven, and not even once throughout those fourteen years you have been praised for your fashion choices. It is no longer your mother dressing you up and ridiculing you with her questionable choices of attire, it is you yourself who is willingly wearing hoodies and hoodies only and who has never arrived on a red carpet in anything else than the boring black suit, which is starting to be a thorn in people's eyes.

You are currently the most respected and beloved French actor, hell a French person in general not only here in the US but also the majority of the rest of the world, Pierre. You are representing your entire nation with everything you do, say, and wear... With that face of yours combined with something more compelling than hoodies, you could be much more than the sweet heartthrob everybody sees you as. The management has been talking about sending you off to fashion weeks and getting sponsorships of fashion brands for ages-"

"They are talking about using me for a lot of things, George. A lot of things I know an absolute shit about and fashion is on the top of the list. Do I look like I read Vogue every morning while drinking a café latte and visit fashion shows every free weekend, loving every minute of watching the unhealthily skinny models wearing hideous things some vague individuals consider high-end fashion? I don't have the time nor the energy to be invested in that and spending hours creating a perfect outfit for the next day every night before heading to bed when I am having eighteen hours long shifts full of hectic traveling from one filming set to another and sleeping cramped in a car. I am supposed to be an actor for heaven's sake, not a fashion icon-"

"And I never said that you should be taking care of your outfits and visual representation on your own in the minimal spare time you have between schedules. Celebrities like you can have people for that. Just like you have a personal driver, bodyguard, and me as your manager, taking care of things you wouldn't be able to cope with on your own, you can have a person taking care of your outfits while you are fully focused on acting-"

Not even this time George was allowed to finish his thought, much to the exasperation of his patience, which was more than near to entirely giving up on Pierre and leaving him alone, so he could take his frustration out on anyone or anything else.

"Let me briefly remind you, the management has already attempted to get me a stylist, George. She quit not even two months in because she so-called couldn't put up with me when I refused to wear that ugly pink crop top or whatever that lace piece of almost nothing, gay porn stars would wear while filming, was. I will not voluntarily deal with some overly ambitious young fashion influencer, dressing me up as if I was a Ken looking for Barbie. I still have some remaining bits of dignity in me I would like to preserve for the rest of my life if you allow me. My willingness to be dressed into something I wouldn't wear on my own also has its limitations and I am telling you beforehand, that I am not going to accept any revolutionary stylist the management will bring into the team."

"Then let me pick a stylist. I will bring someone reasonable, who will make sure that you are reaching and setting the current fashion standards, who will be able to put up with you, and who will respect your dignity all at once. Are you down for this? You won't hear people and the press complaining about your boring fashion sense, you won't have to spend hours trying to fix your lacking fashion knowledge, you will still feel like yourself and comfortable, and the management will be satisfied as well. Just give me your permission for doing so, that's all I ask for."

Reverse psychology was something Pierre clearly didn't expect from George - he had anticipated the Brit to give up on trying to talk some sense into him about fashion or just straightforwardly walk away as he usually did when he didn't want to end up losing all of his nerves, but definitely not that he would suggest something, which actually sounded like a rational win-win situation for both sides.

Visibly taken aback by the unforeseen proposal, Pierre really tried to bicker back with something, that could possibly start another heated discussion as if he was craving to end the day with an unnecessary and meaningless argument win against his manager, but he was completely out of arguments, that couldn't be reasoned or thrown off with the idea George had just suggested.

It took a few seconds of loud silence for Pierre to theatrically sigh and glance out of the window of his Brooklyn apartment, still searching for an excuse for defeatedly accepting the proposal - exactly that silence of his was indirect but unmistakable yes for George, who with a brand new enthusiasm for what initially appeared like yet another ruined day, took out his phone and headed out of the bedroom, only briefly turning back to the defeated actor and uncompromisingly saying get some breakfast into yourself, the car will be here in twenty minutes before disappearing from the French actor's sight with more than a clear idea of who to get in touch with.

 

 

 

Notes:

Twitter - @maxencebisset

Chapter 2: I Can Be Brutal Myself

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Being an actor was a dream job of many.

Pierre was one of these overly ambitious dreamers, but also one of the remarkably lucky individuals, who had managed to transfer those crazy made-up scenarios about standing on red carpets in front of blinding camera flashes, where all the attention went to you and you only, and about bringing written characters and stories to life on the screen for everyone to enjoy and get emotional about, from his mere imagination to reality - at least that's what he was constantly reminding himself whenever his love for the profession started to be doubted by his own mind and body.

When you have been doing something for over fourteen years without a single break, there are inevitably times when your passion, no matter how strong it may be, is challenged, and even more when you have never experienced the harsh reality of having to live without it, doing something you are forced to do, not what you want to do, which would make you appreciate what you have and the luck you have been granted with even more.

Pierre had never done anything else than acting - he had never experienced the stress coming hand in hand with deciding at the end of your high school days, what exactly do you want to do for the rest of your life to be able to live off it, the crazy rollercoaster ride life of a university student with two part-time jobs to pay for rent and decent living opportunities represented for many, the unrelenting trainee days at an office job, where one's pride and dignity was constantly abused, the downsides of ordinary middle let alone lower-class adulthood... He had never undergone any of those to truly treasure the luxury of being a successful actor as many others would if they abruptly found themself in his shoes.

People were always quick to say that he didn't have anything to complain about, that he had been pampered with the oblivion of how hard the ordinary life can be ever since he was a child, that he had been living a precious dream many others either couldn't afford or weren't able to reach even after countless of attempts and that he didn't have a single clue how lucky he actually was to make it that far, that everyone had the right to be envious about the direction his life had taken and outstanding achievements people were linking to his name, but if they truly viewed the, on the outside, fancy and impeccable life of Pierre Gasly, through his eyes, their bragging would stop as quickly as it had initially started.

Pierre wasn't one of those people who had found their way into the filming industry through an acting school, a ton of auditions for every possible movie or show, and working themselves slowly but surely up from playing the extras and overshadowed side characters all the way to the lead roles, nor he had been helped by his parents' money and connection like a spoiled only child, he had been labeled as on numerous occasions throughout his career, after suddenly deciding one day that he want to become a worldwide-known actor - the industry was full of people like these, one would actually be surprised just how many there were, but the French didn't belong to them no matter if he sometimes came off like that.

He was one of the few actors, whose careers both unexpectedly started and blew up in their early childhood with their very first fated roles being brought up whenever one started talking about their careers ever since then, no matter how many years had passed by and how many other successful works they had created and been praised for.

Those, everyone was always cherishing a bit more than other actors as people had the heart-warming chance to see them grow up on screens, but also those, everyone was at the same time pitying for having to sacrifice their childhood and life in general to the industry and their career so early. 

As an eleven-year-old strikingly blue-eyed French kid with blonde ruffled hair and an adorable face, he was everything, but unnoticeable for the American filming crew looking for a youthful eye-catching boy that could play a lead role in their recreation of a successful adventurous novel about a group of kids from the nineteenth century going on a reckless trip around the country.

The story itself was an unforgettable, thrilling, and in the end, also heart-rending one, something that was ageless and precious in a different way for every generation, but the casting with Pierre as the angelic lead role standing in the very front of every movie poster, stealing hearts of everyone, who laid their eyes on the beaming smile of his, was an even bigger commercial success.

That's how life for the naive boy, who had always relished in being the center of attention and entertaining people around him, took a brand new drastic turn.

Almost overnight, he was no longer waking up to school every morning, dressing up in the strict uniform of the private elementary school, he had been attending at that time, and amusing his classmates and teachers only with his fresh sense of humor and positive attitude he had had for everything that had happened in his life, both the good and the bad.

People were suddenly recognizing him on the streets, asking for a hug, photo, or his clumsy, but nevertheless delightful autograph every eleven-year-old would write you with a black marker on a piece of paper if you asked them to, sending him letters and gifts or even waiting for him in front of the school building every afternoon, chanting his name with hopes that they would be gifted with his lovely smile and uplifting acknowledgment.

Back then, he had still been positively overwhelmed by all the attention that had made an aggressive entrance into his life. Back then he had still been enthusiastic about talking about his first-ever role with everyone, who has curiously asked him about it. Back then, he had still been eagerly accepting every command someone from the industry gave him and decisions others did for him. Back then he had still been healthily in love with acting and publicity, unaware of what the pressure of being famous and scrutinized by the whole world day after day could do with many...

"I can't believe it is going to be fifteen years since The Enchanted Ones... Look at you, the puberty really hit you hard, buddy."

Yuki, the adorably short Japanese, who was making up for his lack of height with a brazen attitude and audacious sense of humor, amazedly commented on the post, he had come across while scrolling down his social media feed, with an overly dramatic inhale one could mistake for an utterly terrified one, showing Pierre an Instagram post of the Universal Studios, which was reminding people of the admirable anniversary one of their best-selling movies till that day was planning on celebrating in less than a month.

But unlike his, Pierre's reaction was as unfazed as one could make it be - only fleetingly glancing up and disregarding the information with a shrug of shoulders before shifting his attention back to the attempts of peacefully napping and erasing the sleep debt from last hectic night, spent on a plane across the Atlantic, in a more than awkward position on the backseat of the car, the French made it more than clear even without the use of any words that he didn't want to be reminded of the joyful times he had experienced at the beginning of his career nor about his castmates, no matter how tempestuous emotions just that one glance at the old movie poster stirred inside of him.

The Japanese didn't seem to care a bit about the actor's obvious indirect wish saying just shut up though, because, after the dull response, he had received from the actor, he immediately shifted even closer, shamelessly invading Pierre's personal space, despite knowing how overly sensitive the older was about it when grumpy from the deficiency of sleep mixed with the vision of a hectic day waiting in front of him, and shoved the bright screen of his phone close to the older's face once again.

"And this morning they announced the Dior movie-themed runway show, have George told you about that? Is it going to be presented next month? During the fashion week? They probably invited the entire cast, didn't they-"

"Yuki, I don't know if someone told you or not, but the entire cast you have in mind is not exactly in a meetable and presentable form. Claire overdosed seven years ago, Hugo is in prison for all the shitty things he had done during his alcoholic stage of life, Gabriel stepped down from public life last year with no intention of coming back whatsoever and Esmée is being treated with social anxiety and paranoia. It is just me, who is going to show up, there won't be any touching Harry Potter-like reunion happening. Maybe for you and other people out there, the anniversary is a tremendous thing worthy of grand celebrations, but not for me when the only thing everybody will bring up is what we grew up into and how some of us ended.

I don't want to hear about it more than I already have to, so please, just shut it."

The way Pierre snapped at his best friend maybe came off as harshly hostile, but the last words, which the French asserted with a muted tone of voice, that was near cracking, gave away the feebly hidden sorrow inside of him and the desperate defense mechanism trying to protect his vulnerable feelings about the anniversary coming up from being revealed to the world, which his mind once again used in the form of anger, to Yuki whose initially animated expression turned into something between apologetic and disquieted one.

There were days when Pierre was keen on talking about the four of his castmates - those, who were sharing the same exciting encounters and first times in the industry with him through the same innocent eyes of a mere child after even their names made it out there into the world and brought the haunting fame into their lives - but these days had been long gone just like the willingness of answering any of the touchy questions people oftentimes barefacedly had about the current condition of the once-esteemed and treasured casting.

From a group of five lively and spirited kids picked from the crowd, there were only four of them left alive and breathing with barely any scraps of the admirably wholesome happiness, which was once shining through their eyes and words on the movie screen fifteen years ago.

The result of what no one talked about when they were enviously and ignorantly discussing how easy and fanciful their lives had to be ever since the indescribable success of The Enchanted Ones because admitting that the fame and industry had slaughtered most, if not all of them from the inside, their angelic souls the most, as if that was supposed to be the coldblooded prize of becoming unforgettable children phenomenons in the eyes of the world, wouldn't suit the soul-stirring scenario many resentment-filled people were constantly bringing up.

After fifteen long years, Pierre was the only one left, still facing the blinding spotlight in the acting industry as the last and most vivid figure out of the five keeping the movie and its legacy alive in the minds of everyone with every radiant smile of his, that had remained the same over the years, just like he did back then when he was only eleven and enchanting people with his undeniable talent and charming personality as a kid, despite many predicting that he was going to be the one quickly ending on the dark side of the Hollywood, ruining his holy reputation through drugs, alcohol, and problems with the law, just like many others, who couldn't handle the pressure of being famous.

"Sorry..." Yuki murmured, afraid to say anything more elaborated than that to not accidentally encounter another touchy topic with his talking clumsiness as he himself titled his feeble sense of knowing what is appropriate to say and whatnot, and shifted away to give the French his personal space back after feeling the irritation of the uncomfortably close proximity growing in him. "...Well, has George found the perfect personal stylist, he bragged about, yet, or is he still searching? You told me about that last week on the phone, but I haven't seen anyone new arriving with you this morning, or have I?"

Changing the topic to a seemingly neutral one (differently said the first one, which had popped up in his head and had nothing to do with the anniversary), the Japanese made Pierre properly sit up on the backseat of the car with a loud groan of annoyance after he had confirmed with not shutting up, that he wasn't planning on letting the actor enjoy the last five minutes, which were remaining to their final destination through the bustling streets of Paris, with a peaceful recharging nap and instead was demanding participation on the conversation from him.

"No... Or actually, yes. It is complicated." Pierre rubbed his drowsy, but nevertheless still prepossessing blue eyes and took a deep breath in as if wanting to indirectly emphasize how difficult it was to understandably word the answer for the simple question and summarize everything new, which had surfaced around the topic of his personal stylist in the past week, even more than he already had with his initial puzzling reply. "He has found him. Yes, unfortunately, he has. You should have seen him this past week, he was never so pathetically thrilled about arranging something as he was about this.

However, the only thing he disclosed to me is that the person he picked is an excellent match for me from his perspective, which isn't exactly comforting since we all know how George views things, especially those that have something to do with me, and if he says that he is a perfect match for me, then that means that he will be the bossy George 2.0 just in the fashion, twice as posh, version. Not even saying that he hasn't even told me who it is so I can't look him up in advance for some reason, but I am supposed to meet him at his studio somewhere near the Champs-Élysées tomorrow.

Without George because he allegedly has some extremely important meeting here, so I am going somewhere, no idea where exactly, without knowing who I should look for and what I should prepare myself for. If that's not the most George thing to do, then I don't know.

Plus, he is the reason why I will be flying back and forth between New York and Paris this month like an idiot with constant jetlag. George declared that he has an important project for the fashion week he has to supervise and present here before he will be able to travel with me to the States and that he insisted on wanting to work with me in person only, not over facetime and phone calls, so I will have to fly my ass to Paris whenever I will run out of outfits. How delightful..."

Pierre's frustration of knowing so many things and yet at the same time not knowing anything important was more than evident.

When he rather unenthusiastically agreed to the idea of letting George pick a personal stylist for him to put a definite end to all the critical remarks of the fashion fanatics out there, that were slowly but surely getting under the actor's skin with the constantly growing number of them appearing everywhere after the public roast from Charles LeClerc, while deep down hoping that the Brit would take into the consideration the fact that he definitely wasn't going to accept just anyone he would try to bring into the team, Pierre definitely didn't imagine everything being this complicated and absurdly secretive - honestly, he didn't imagine the British manager being able to find someone suitable, to begin with, but George had once again exceeded his expectations, much to his inner resentment.

Combining the work trip to Paris, where the Universal studios were holding the anniversary celebrations in the old filming studios, in which The Enchanted Ones were filmed fifteen years ago, with having Pierre meet his new personal stylist, who was by coincidence also working in the French capital as generic and novel-like as it may seem like for a fashion stylist to work in the romantic city of fashion, was just mere luck of the timing, that was perfectly playing into George's busy hands.

"I am not exactly the most knowledgable about the fashion industry, but bloody hell... George must have found someone of a whole another level of class if that guy has a studio at Champs-Élysées, supervises a Paris fashion week project, and insists on personal fittings. That definitely doesn't sound like some mediocre stylist, who had just got out of school and desperately looks for a job, Pierre."

Yuki amazedly chuckled at the enumeration of the commendable pieces of information, the French had disclosed about his, still nameless, new personal stylist, making the actor cluelessly knit his eyebrows right at the first of the Japanese's amazements about having a studio at Champs-Élysées being something laudable. Sure, it was undoubtedly one of the most famous parts of the city, probably right after the notorious Eiffel Tower and Louvre, visited by thousands of people every single day but in Pierre's eyes, which had known every street of the capital for years, the place didn't have any other significant meaning than being of the main tourists draws of Paris and therefore unbearably loud and cramped with people at any day hour.

"You have never been shopping there, have you? Chanel, Versace, Louis Vuitton, Dior, Cartier, Hugo Boss, Chaumet, you name it... It is like a heaven on Earth for everyone, who likes fashion, let alone hardcore fashion enthusiasts. Every other person walking there is either model or a well-known fashion designer and during the fashion week, it is literally crazy out there, filled with paparazzi and celebs picking up their outfits from the brands' headquarters. Screw Eiffel Tower, Champs-Élysées is the hottest place in Paris for the fashion industry people. If that person has a studio there, then he is either extremely rich or extremely high up in the industry. Or both at once-"

"Hold on, so you are telling me, that it is not about if he is posh, but how much?"

Pierre piquedly snorted as if on the verge of hysterical frustration, using George's temporary absence to boldly say the freshly off-limits offensive word and let out some of the bottled steam through it while he was still in the privacy of the car, where his perfectly polished celebrity image could be broken in front of his Japanese companion, who visibly enjoyed every single time Pierre threw his impeccable manners of a celebrity away and became a bit more relatable, this one included.

"Come on, buddy, take it from the positive side. The posher he is going to be, the better he is going to know how to make you look even hotter."

The Le Marais filming studios were supposed to be abandoned - despite the fact that they were the place, where The Enchanted Ones were brought to life fifteen years ago, they had been slowly but surely replaced by the more conveniently located and modernized counterparts in the other districts of the capital throughout the years, deliberately becoming nothing, but depressingly empty and useless monumental halls standing at the district most known for the author Victor Hugo, art galleries and gay bars - but when the car with Pierre and Yuki inside parked inside of the guarded area that day, the sight felt like everything, but abandoned and melancholic.

Just like back then, dozens of people were rushing here and there, carrying different props and items to where they were needed, trying to motivate the buzzingly loud gathering of people into doing the work properly and productively, or just giving up on trying to remain collected and choosing yelling as the appropriate way how to catch the attention of those they needed for something. From ateliers, which outlived their original purpose and ended up letting thick dust layers form on everything that was left inside of them and wasn't covered with canvas while bearing the journalist documenting their disheartening fall from glory, the filming studios seemed to be back to their original grandeur - the soul-stirring one causing chills Pierre still vividly recalled.

Maybe they weren't visually as distinguished and breath-taking as the countless of the overseas ones his acting career had taken him to, but the beloved memories linked to them were more cherished and guarded inside of his mind than the countless others he had so far had from the rest of his career. No other filming set could brag about being the one, which introduced the legendary Pierre Gasly to acting and brought him up acting-wise in the five long months he had spent there, playing the youthful and witty character of Arthur Archambeau both kids and adults all around the world still revered.

It didn't take long before Pierre got noticed after getting out of the car and stretching his numbed limbs - at the end of the day, everyone was aware that the person, who had portrayed the lead character was coming back to Le Marais studios that day and so even though, everybody present was focusing on their assigned work, they were also covertly glancing to the gate every minute as if trying to be the first one getting a peek of the popular actor's arrival.

Blatant He is here was what started to linger throughout the large surroundings, making people look up from whatever they were doing and stop in the rushing walk as if the lack of time was no longer worrying them, just to unblushingly shift their curious gazes to the tall blonde French actor, who apprehensively looked around himself, feeling the uncomfortable weight of everyone's attention falling on his shoulders.

Without a single clue about where he was supposed to be heading - something he wouldn't have to worry about if George was by his side, not inside already and probably completely unaware of Pierre's arrival - the French turned around to face Yuki, who joined his side like a small, but nevertheless strong mental support against the growing awkwardness, which was spreading across the outside of the studios with every second of people's high expectations of him doing anything Pierre Gasly-like passing by without any satisfying outcome.

"I feel like an idiot, this is exactly why I didn't want to go here this early... Look at that, there is literally a cardboard version of my eleven-year-old self standing at the entrance and a huge-ass banner with my face on it hanging behind it. This is supposed to be an anniversary exhibition, not my shrine. I won't be able to take a single breath here without dozens of strangers staring at me like at the holy ghost."

"You are famous, Pierre, and let me remind you your own words, the only one out of the entire cast, who is actually going to be here during the exhibition. Of course, they will rinse everything out of you and your presence. That's what people usually do when they are near a celebrity. I thought that fifteen years of experiencing it is enough for one to get used to it-"

"Pierre!"

Before their moderately disputing conversation could continue, their attention was driven to the approaching source of the resonating voice, which called the actor's name vehemently enough to earn his full consciousness - something, which was oftentimes almost impossible for many when Pierre didn't have any compelling reasons inside of his head why he should pay attention, let alone listen to the particular individuals. The fact that he promptly turned around after hearing the familiar voice, was enough to put two and two together and realize that it was none other than George, who was quickly coming to them with his almost inhumanely long legs and therefore even steps.

"You took your time, I was already planning on calling you and asking where the hell you are."

"Try to get from La Réserve all the way here in less than an hour when people know that I am in the car. It was complete mayhem out there, literally took me ten minutes just to get to the car when I got out of the hotel lobby. Seriously, is it necessary for me to be here? I could come and smile for cameras next month when everything will be done. Not even saying how ridiculous idea it was to book a flight this late and right after the script reading - I have had two coffees this morning already and still feel like a walking piece of shit, George."

Pierre mutedly asserted in George's direction, careful not to let any of the bystanders hear his ungrateful complaints about having to be there while his body was craving for several hours of peaceful sleep in the comfortable bed at his hotel room. It wasn't only the past week he had been working nonstop and seeing the results of it on his drained body, which was too young to be experiencing these miserable states - it was exhausting to be occupied with single movie production and PR events, adding something as absurd as flying from New York to Paris just to show up and meet a new addition to his staff team while utterly disregarding his jetlagged condition was another level of carelessness in his eyes.

"You know that it was the management, who promised the director your presence during the exhibition preparations, not me. I tried to talk it out of their heads and push the flight to next week at least, but they insisted that it would look good in the eyes of the media if you were involved in the process since the beginning as you are the only one from the cast, who has so far confirmed the attendance. There are no cameras inside, no media, no journalists, I just want you to go exchange a few words with the director and people working there. They have been looking forward to seeing you here ever since the morning, many are working here as volunteers so it is going to make their day if you show up and say hi.

After this, you have the rest of the day for putting yourself back together, so please, push for a little longer. I know that you are tired, but this is never going to repeat itself and even though you maybe don't want to admit it now, I know that you would regret missing out on this sooner or later."

This was the thing about George - no matter how much he sometimes irritated the living soul out of Pierre, how bossy he could be and how he oftentimes didn't understand Pierre's point of view much to the younger's frustration, he still genuinely cared for the actor and could see with his good-natured big green eyes, which were always catching everyone's attention as the first part of him, when the French man was on the verge of breaking apart, stepping in every single time to cheer up Pierre's spirits and help him out of the misery before it could turn to an irrecoverable disaster.

The gentle squeeze he gave to the actor's shoulder and sympathetic smile, he granted the despondent Pierre with, was maybe a small gesture of encouragement, unable to get rid of all the discouraging thoughts inside of the younger's mind, but at that moment, it was very much an appreciated one by the actor's body craving for any sort of caring reassurance. One, that made Pierre took a deep refreshing breath in, put a polite smile on, and nod at his manager as a wordless agreement to bearing the protests of his tired body for a little longer and doing what he was here for - show up and make the hard-working people's day, at least theirs when his own one felt like an irredeemable chaotic and debilitating mess.

"Oh, hey, Yuki." George surprisedly acknowledged the presence of Pierre's friend with an amused grin on his lips forecasting a taunting remark. "I didn't see you, sorry... But am I dreaming or have you grown a bit since the last time I saw you?"

Alright, maybe agreeing to the tour of the nearly finished exhibition about The Enchanted Ones wasn't such a bad idea as it initially appeared like.

Pierre presumed that it was going to be a museum-like exhibition like a ton of others he had been forced to endure - differently said, a tedious walk full of, for the public maybe impressive, for him already well-known and therefore boring information cramped into the old filming studios, which were once again filled with countless of props from filming they had obtained god knows where after all those years of the filming studios getting abandoned and things deliberately disappearing - but the reality was quite different.

It was apparent that the young and imaginative people, who were almost omnipresent around the studios, greeting Pierre with bright smiles and almost contagious positive energy and excitement about the anniversary celebrations, were those, who had the main say in the creation of the exhibition because this one was nowhere near comparable with the monotonous traditional structures and lacking originality of those, you could find in the majority of the museums directed by old-fashioned directors and academics.

Old polaroid photos capturing the touching interactions between the cast and movie crew, behind the scenes tapes showcasing all the silly games they played between the scenes to entertain themselves and adorable bloopers caught on cameras, costumes, which's authentic material and smell Pierre still recognized and which looked almost shockingly tiny for the actor, who no longer was petite and one hundred and forty centimeters tall, filming props reminding particular scenes of the movie... All of this was included in the exhibition in a fresh artistic and eye-catching way, combined with the impressive modern technology, which was bringing everything several steps past perfection.

In fact, Pierre was both so moved and overwhelmed by the affecting visuals of the exhibition, that he eventually asked the exhibition director, George, and Yuki, who were all accompanying him on the walk through the spacious filming studios turned into a museum, if he could walk through the rest of it alone.

Of course, he didn't admit that the real reason, why he asked to be alone were the burning tears, which were uncontrollably making their way out of his piercing blue eyes with every displayed piece evoking the bitter consciousness of how carefree and blessed those times back then were and which he didn't want to publically showcase in front of anyone, but he didn't even have to be honest. One downhearted look dedicated to George was enough to make the manager realize why the French asked to be alone and enough to make him cooperate with persuading both Yuki and the director into going elsewhere for a while.

Only when Pierre could no longer see the three figures and hear their slowly distancing voices, he entered the last section of the exhibition dedicated solely to the five child actors, about which he knew that it was going to make him cry no matter how hard he would try to prevent the tears from escaping his eyes.

And it did.

As soon as he spotted the five iconic costumes displayed on small children manikins, which they wore through the majority of the filming and even on the movie posters, standing at the very front of every part of the last exhibition section, the screen behind each of them replaying the mix of casting tapes, behind the scenes, and actual scenes cut from the movie highlighting everyone's personality and acting talent, the voices of everyone, which started playing through the speakers when one came closer to a particular character and ton of other, small but nevertheless significant and touching details, Pierre broke into tears.

He was supposed to be there with all of them, there was supposed to be five of them standing side by side - content and settled, recalling those times they had enjoyed together - but he was there alone with no way how to make the hopeful wish of a happy ending for all of them happen.

"Don't cry for too long, it will make your eyes look puffy and there is no way how to hide that from the cameras waiting outside."

An unfamiliar voice, which lingered into his ears from behind without any warning beforehand, was unexpected enough to make Pierre convulsively turn around in pure panic and face the person who soundlessly approached him. For more than several seconds, he stared at the person with an unreadable expression - it was no longer just the fright of being startled and caught vulnerably crying, it was also bewilderment and sincere aversion, which started to take a visible part in what both his facial expressions and candid eyes were displaying on the outside.

He had many guesses about who could be the one that had walked into him crying, at the end of the day there were more than just a few dozens of people present and not everyone was aware of Pierre's wish of not wanting to be disturbed for a while, but much to his own shock, it was none of the volunteers or creative directors, who was standing at the entrance to the last exhibition section, leaning against the wall with a judgemental stare and raised eyebrows burning holes into his teary eyes as if wordlessly titling Pierre's public breakdown as pathetic.

This was exactly how Pierre envisioned him - a tall lean almost model-like figure, dressed in something, which was in the fashion community probably considered casual, while in his eyes it was an overly dressed up daily day outfit he would never put together, even if he had all the pieces laid in front of himself, let alone something he would willingly wear outside when not stepping in front of cameras.

Just like his words, which were still rooted deep down into Pierre's memory like a poisonous worm abusing his spirits whenever he recalled them and the amount of indescribable support they got from the public, even his silent scornful attitude came off as heavily remarked by the high position he held within the fashion industry and the number of people that were loyally following and adoring him, making Pierre question just what was so special about this guy for George to be a friend with him and wholeheartedly defend him whenever the French actor expressed his honest opinion about how he appeared like in his eyes, hurt by the honest remark of the fashion designer targeting his ego. 

"You really relish in ridiculing me, don't you? Came here just to enjoy seeing me cry?" Pierre loathingly snorted and scowled at the Dior designer, letting the exhaustion and frustration intensify the sincere aversion he was showing in every way he could.

"Can't say that I wasn't looking forward to encountering you in person when I got to know that you are going to show up today. It doesn't happen every day that the legendary Pierre Gasly remembers his origins and leaves the fancy Hollywood bubble for his homeland. Not going to lie, I had some hopes that you have learned something from my valid criticism in the past week or so, but as I see, those hopes were nothing, but lamentable."

Charles's eyes critically examined Pierre's outfit, which unsurprisingly but nevertheless disappointingly consisted of nothing else than a pair of jeans, white sneakers, and baggy hoodie, showing one big middle finger to the reasonable critique the fashion designer had voiced not even that long ago to be this easily and ignorantly disregarded by the actor.

"Why do you even care what I wear? I am not your model nor the figure you can dress up like a Barbie doll."

Instead of immediately arguing back as Pierre expected him to, the Monegasque started light-heartedly laughing, erasing the distance between him and the actor with a few long almost admirably elegant-looking steps, which made the French man visibly tense on the spot.

"I mean like, George told me that he had to conceal some things from you to make you willingly come here and meet your brand new personal stylist, but I didn't expect you to be this clueless. My dear Pierre, I know that you are not the most knowledgeable in the world of fashion, but let me tell you, that at the moment there is no one else in the world outside of me, who has a private studio at Champs-Élysées and directs The Enchanted Ones Dior show..."

Fixing the rolled-up sleeves of Pierre's hoodie and clutched fabric on his shoulders with smooth and experienced movements of a person, who could work with even the most delicate fabric with closed eyes, to make the misery the actor's look represented look at least a bit less miserable, Charles only widened the triumphant smile on his lips when he observed how Pierre slowly but surely put two and two together and came to the conclusion of his indirect declaration he intentionally didn't want to straightforwardly say out loud as if looking forward to the fulfilling defeat in Pierre's eyes.

"So unfortunately for you, it is more than my concern what you wear from now on, especially here in Paris during my runway show. Your fashion reputation is now remarking mine and I am not planning on letting someone like you ruin the ten years of hard work. Hollywood has maybe taught you how to be closed-minded and brutally honest to everything and everyone you don't like, giving you the privilege to get away with it since everyone there adores you, but I am not your fan, and here in the fashion industry, it is the opinion of the stylist, which is holy.

Either you will accept and respect it and we will avoid conflicts, or you will learn it the hard way. That's up to you, but trust me when I say that I can be brutal myself. Either way, I will still fix your lacking in the fashion area, you can be sure of that."

Notes:

Charles' outfit at the end:

Sorry for not updating earlier, I genuinely wanted to but my school this year is literally crazy so I hardly have more than an hour, which is not enough, to sit down and write, thus the long period between the prologue and this chapter.

Hopefully it will get better!

Chapter 3: Mon Ange Français

Notes:

Alright, I am not dead, I promise that I have been living all this time and that I really planned on publishing this chapter last weekend, but unexpectedly, much to my indescribable frustration, a writer block came around (as it always does every once in a while) and gifted me a lovely visit right after the draining school week when I was finally ready to sit down and write the chapter for you, so for the last five or how many days, I have been sitting in front of the draft of this chapter being unable to write a single paragraph and find inspiration for the story, to begin with, so I am so so so sorry for not keeping the promised update date.

All of you, who were checking this story every day to see if there is an update or not, deserve big kudos cause you were waiting for eight days for this!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

"One thing is settled, our biggest focus is going to go to the character of Arthur Archambeau... His section of the show needs to in a way overshadow the others not only because it is the ending one, wrapping the entire show up, but all the invited guests I have so far spoken to are looking forward to his part the most. Considering he is the lead character in the movie, who has always been the most cherished one of the five, more than reasonably so. It needs to have that authentic special feel, one which would instantly make people link the models with him and recall the featured parts of the film we have chosen to recreate into the clothing, but-..."

"But both the novel author and the movie director are dead, yes we have already gone through that issue countless times before, Avril. Reminding how big of a problem that is over and over again, won't fix it. We simply have to work with the reality, that they won't tell us a single thing about the character from the point of view of those, who created Arthur both on the pages and on the screen back then, and draw only from what we can see as the casual viewers-"

"Is everyone here forgetting that Pierre Gasly is not dead yet? You are talking about the director and the author being gone, sure they would both be more than valuable help to have by our side when putting this thing together, I am not saying that they wouldn't, but Gasly is the one, who brought Arthur to the life on the screen fifteen years ago, he is the face everyone is looking forward to seeing there in the first row and I am sure that he was told countless of things beyond those we as the public can access about Arthur and the work as a whole while filming it as a kid. We won't lose anything if we approach him and ask him if he can give us a helping hand."

"How come are you so sure that he is going to willingly make time for us? Let me tell you, Fleur, if you haven't already noticed it, he has never been exactly twice as fond of fashion nor the idea of extravagant celebrations of the anniversary alone to be eagerly compliant to participate and waste countless precious hours, celebrities supposedly never have enough in every day, here with us, locked in the studios from sunrise to sunset, working on putting together pieces of fabric. Not talking about the fact, that we don't even have a proper way how to reach out to him-"

"Let me tell you, Gabriel, if you haven't already noticed it, Charles here happens to have more than a proper connection to Gasly now, am I not right Charles?"

The early morning meeting in the LeClerc studios established in one of the twelve Art Deco buildings directly facing the famous Champs-Élysées was just as bustling and head-splitting as the slowly but surely growing gatherings of tourists at the massive monument outside.

The fashion industry was always chaotic, ear-piercing, and stressfully last-minute based place to work at - on the outside everything maybe looked perfectly punctual, organized, and reposeful when you were sitting at the front row, looking at the finished runway shows or listing through the aesthetic fashion magazines, but if you ever happened to make a way into behind the scenes and the very core of the industry, your naive view of it would be shattered into pieces almost immediately with everything you would encounter.

There wasn't a single break for the fashion industry throughout the year - people always needed new clothing, new styles, and trends, no matter which one of the four seasons it currently was and what was happening in the world, cause clothes was just as much of an irreplaceable part of the modern life as money, no matter if some absurdly said otherwise. Unlike professional athletes, they were invested in their jobs 24/7 for three-hundred and sixty-five days a year until they retired, there weren't any recharging off-seasons for them, despite being just as much of significant figures as them with twice as much importance for society.

There were no holidays, there were hardly any free weekends and lovely relaxing evenings spent at the peace of their homes, only overtimes and sleepless nights caused by nerve-racking deadlines reoccurring over and over again like an unspoken mandatory part of the profession for everyone who decided to pursue a career in fashion...

Once you wrapped up and presented the spring collection, you immediately moved on to the summer one, then to the autumn one, and as the seemingly last the winter one, just to start working on the next year's spring one once again like a never-ending circle of hours spent in the studio, castings, and fittings. When one added the special runway shows celebrating meaningful events and individuals linked to the brand or place of its origin, which were happening between the major ones and required just as much effort and attention of everyone involved, to the already overwhelming and exhausting year schedule, you had a perfect recipe for a disorganized disaster the fashion industry truly represented.

When you knew the reality, it shouldn't be shocking to see the after-effects of constant never-ending rush, demanding high standards, strong rivals in the field, and continually wrung out creativity reflecting in how hectic and in a way toxic the environment of the fashion industry was. Especially on the admirably high level where Charles was settled within the industry.

It wasn't necessarily his idea to eagerly grab the opportunity to create The Enchanted Ones-themed show for the anniversary celebrations as one of the most prominent French brands having more than valid rights to be the one presenting it to the world - in fact, he had tried to do everything he could to leave the responsibility of being in the head of the project to someone else within the enclosed Dior circle, reasoning with having already enough of his plate for the near future occupied with the entirety of the fashion week, but at the end of the day, it was still his name, which was officially written to the initially empty spot of the head director slash designer and there wasn't anything he could do to fight it.

He maybe possessed a position and reputation, which allowed him to have a notable say in the major decisions and immense respect of many, but he still wasn't Bernard Arnault to be able to blatantly say no to whatever he would want to.

Nevertheless, just like always after several days of being resentful about the decision, he didn't agree with being made in the spite of his protests, his fervent need to once again prove his abilities to the fashion world with something as rare as this show, which was far away from what he usually willingly got himself involved in, won over his mind and replaced the hostility with a passion to create yet another masterpiece earning the praise of even those, who weren't his biggest supporters.

Masterpiece, which like any other required a meeting with his team and a throughout planning of every single detail and possible scenario - something, which was everything, but nonviolent activity with eight hotheaded ambitious designers clashing together in the attempts of designing perfection.

"He is actually supposed to come over today for measuring and first fitting-..."

"See? Where do you have the problem of not being able to reach out to him now? We don't even have to discuss it over the phone this way." Fleur, the young red-haired woman in her early twenties dressed in a complimenting sky blue blouse, was once again the one, who impatiently interrupted someone's (read as Charles') words without a bit of shame of knowingly being disrespectful reflecting in her face, just to shove her victory down the throat of the defeatedly staring Gabriel while the man's argument loss was still fresh.

"Fleur, I have already told you to stop interrupting people like this numerous times before and I would appreciate it if you finally started respecting it and the rights of others to voice out their full opinions as a grown-ass woman you are. Not just you, everybody here. With a full offense, go on to feel insulted if you want, I don't care, your constant childish bickering is lately getting under my skin in a not pretty way, so I would recommend you to stop it before I will have enough of it. There are a ton of other things, which already frustrate me on a daily day basis and it would be wonderful if my team wasn't one of them... Can I finish what I was saying now?"

Charles loved his team, don't get him wrong.

If he really couldn't stand them as he oftentimes passionately asserted as a threat whenever they were getting unbearable, he wouldn't be employing them and paying them twice as much as they would get anywhere else. There were dozens, if not hundreds of other competent people in the industry longing to have the opportunity to work with him, he could have a brand new team every single week and yet not run out of job seekers if he truly wanted, but even after all those years and severely abused nerves of his, he was still fond of the eight temperamental, but immensely talented people, who were going through all the bad and good with him every single day.

Just sometimes, their oftentimes reckless behavior was too much for him in the midst of the most unrelenting pressure falling onto his shoulders, which was coming hand in hand with the upcoming fashion week every single year, and exactly during those times, he was capable of making it more than clear with the resonant voice of his, which always became hearably deeper when anger took over him, that they should better put themselves back in place before he would run out of the limited patience completely.

Even now, the chilling silence was what filled the spacious studios after Charles' stern words and reproaching stare lingered to everyone present, firmly hushing them and planting seeds of bad conscience for their immature behavior into their minds. Yelling over each other, dragging personal feuds into work, and dwelling over the same issues over and over again without any decent solution coming out of it was the last thing they needed with only a month-long period left for their preparation of the show.

Seated at the head of the long glass table in his office, the Monégasque waited for a few more seconds, as if was expecting them to ignorantly break the silence once again, despite his scolding, before he put a personalized golden pen, with which he had been unwittingly playing all this time as a harmless stress reliever and which had his initials carved into the lit, aside and reached for a black folder, he had been handed by George as soon as the British manager landed in Paris a few days ago and gifted him with a friendly but deep down strictly work-dedicated visit.

A folder that was hiding information so confidential for the general public about Pierre's upcoming schedules, that if it ended in the wrong hands or got lost completely, Charles would definitely have a problem.

"As I already said... He is coming over today, or at least he is supposed to come, I honestly wouldn't be surprised if he didn't show up. He definitely looks like that kind of guy who doesn't get over a hurt ego quickly and I am delighted to say that I probably abused it quite admirably yesterday when I enlightened him on the topic of his personal stylist instead of his manager. At least he looked like his comfortable little celebrity bubble got popped." Charles smugly chuckled, fleetingly remembering the taken aback expression, which had taken over Pierre's face when he finally managed to wrap his head around the reason behind the infamous fashion designer's appearance.

"...But, the thing is that according to the schedule his management provided me with, he is planning on going back to the States this weekend for a short stay because of some ongoing filming and promotions and it is probably going to be like that with him until the end of the fashion week when I will head to New York with him so as tempting of a solution that is, I am not sure if he will be available to help us even if he wanted to in the spite of the sleep deprivation that will surely get to him sooner or later with the constant flying over the Atlantic every few days and which will definitely kill the leftover bits of polite helpfulness in him if there still are some, to begin with."

With these candid words, he closed the black folder filled with inhumanely-looking complicated schedules, created by someone, who obviously didn't take into consideration the need of having at least a few hours of sleep a night every human being had encoded into their system since birth and threw it away on the pile of others on the table just like the initially promising idea of using Gasly's knowledge about the character, he had portrayed fifteen years ago, in the conception of the fashion collection. And just like that, they seemed to be back at the frustrating beginning.

"Why did you even accept the job anyway, Charles? You humiliated the hell out of him online, I don't even know how many times have you so determinedly stated that you don't want to style any Hollywood celebrities after having to dress them up for the fashion weeks and now you are willingly working as a stylist of a person, who is currently listed in the top ten Hollywood actors? Isn't a little ironic?"

An entertained smirk made an appearance on Charles' lips before he looked up from the golden lid of his pen to Gabriel's genuinely curious eyes and light-heartedly shook his head.

"As paradoxical as it may sound, I think it was mainly because of the humiliation. Not that I would feel sorry or anything, he has an awful fashion sense, I wholeheartedly stand behind that and I am actually shocked that he wasn't dragged for it by someone else way earlier, but the thing is, that he is out there representing France as a country, everyone here, people create stereotypes and judge us based on everything he says and does because he is their French heartthrob and since my public humiliation of him didn't make him change a single thing in his closet, I have simply decided to take a more direct approach to fix his fashion image before everyone will start to think that all French people wear hoodies and jeans on daily day basis.

All of you know how much it irks me that Vogue constantly lists only Americans as the most fashionable Hollywood celebrities, year after year. Americans, as if they were the ones holding the most famous fashion weeks and owning the brands they wear on a daily basis and through which they like to brag about their wealth. Do you seriously think that I would miss an opportunity to change that and bring Gasly's French ass into the top ten even in this aspect of his celebrity life?"

A few hours after the morning meeting, the only sounds in the LeClerc studios were those, which were like a symphony to the ears of everyone, who secretly dreamed of being a fashion designer - the shiny silver tailor scissors cutting through pieces of fabric, the sewing machine running in almost regular intervals whenever someone needed to put the cut pieces together, pencils running across the sketch papers, which were slowly but surely filling up all the workspace or ending in trash bins when the drawn models didn't reach the authors' expectations and high standards, the barely hearable sound of pins pinning and forming the clothing on the fashion mannequins...

All eight of the initially bickering and unbearably immature designers were nearly silently at their own workspaces focusing only on the assigned work in front of them, barely exchanging casual friendly words between themselves as a lovely uplifting side entertainment as if they didn't have time for such a thing - which they, in a way, truly didn't, given how lost they still were in the topic of the direction of the collection, desperately trying to find any solid base they could build on - even Charles himself was sitting in his little secluded studio, listing through countless of photos and illustration of The Enchanted Ones his secretary had put together for him, looking for any sort of impulse of inspiration.

He had seen the movie several times before - as probably every other French person.

To put it this way, imagine being from a country that isn't known for the movie industry and yet having the privilege to be the origin of a movie and its actors, which had surpassed countless of the famous Hollywood ones. Even if you weren't a fan of it for whatever reason you would have, you still had to be proud of it and its immense success because it had earned your nation a significant amount of respect and attention in the normally self-centered eyes of the rest of the world.

When it came down to Charles, you could exclaim that he liked the movie. He wouldn't necessarily say that he loved it - that was something his twelve-year-old self would say after he had seen it for the first time, mesmerized by the story he could relate to with his almost peers being the main protagonists instead of boring adults - because as the time slowly went by and all the inquisitive questions about the story were answered, the first-time excitement slowly died down inside of him. There was no way you could recreate the passionate first-time emotions when watching it for the fifth time and so his relationship to the movie fell down to liking only.

Frankly speaking, he was feeling a certain amount of pressure on his shoulders he had never felt before. At the end of the day, he was about to put the two things France was the most known for together and present them to the whole world, it would probably be more concerning if he wasn't nervous about messing it up and not reaching the unspoken standard everyone was expecting from him.

Maybe because of that he was staring at the materials in front of him with such an intensity in his gaze, lost in scrutinizing the photos to such an extent, that he didn't even realize the first knock on the glass see-through door leading into his office, nor the sudden stop of the loud sewing machine lingering from the main studio, that had been up till then occupying a tiny part of his perception of the surroundings. Fleur had to knock again, this time so firmly that the sound resonated against the glass loud enough to nearly startle the fashion designer and force him to look up from his desk to whoever had a reason valid enough to interrupt him in the middle of work hours.

It wasn't just the notorious red-haired woman standing there and patiently waiting for permission to walk in, it was also a familiar beaming face of his British friend, for which it was impossible to be left unnoticed with his ridiculous height, that was making Fleur look absurdly miniature in front of him, and as Charles realized almost immediately after he allowed them to come in with a small nod, even hiding a third, the most important person at whose child years presented on photos he had been looking for the past three hours, and who visibly rather grudgingly "decided" to gift the LeClerc studios a visit that day.

"Sorry for being late, I know I have promised you to show up around noon, but there were some difficulties we had to sort out first..." George's indirectly reproaching and even slightly embarrassed glare shifted back at Pierre, who was intentionally disregarding both his words and stare and instead continued in convincingly faking his interest in the interior of Charles' private studio with looking everywhere around him but at his manager, whose frustration was reaching indescribable depths at that point even on the outside with the frowning wrinkles forming on his face after getting shamelessly overlooked.

Glancing at his expensive-looking Rolex watch, which was decorating one of his wrists, and checking the time, George let out a knackered sigh before looking up at his dear French friend, who was observing him with a somewhat amused grin. "Now, I really need to rush, I was already supposed to be at Le Ciel de Paris twenty minutes ago so I am handing you Pierre here, do whatever you want and need to do with him, you can keep him here with you for however long you need, he doesn't have any other schedules for today. I am sure, he will gladly respect all your ideas and suggestions, am I right Pierre?"

This time the French actor didn't get away with ignoring the question directly targeted at him with nothing but muteness, but at the same time, it didn't mean that the pressure of it was firm enough to make him answer with full words and so with an involuntarily agreeing hum he fulfilled at least a few of the minimal expectations of his cooperation George had.

"I gave you the folder with the events he is attending this month, right?-"

"Yes, George, I have absolutely everything I need and probably even more than that. It is not my first time styling a celebrity, I know what I am doing, you don't have to be stressed about it. Now go before your enchanting French date gets tired of waiting for you and leaves-"

"It is a strictly work meeting, Charles." The Brit sternly asserted, anxiously glimpsing at Fleur, who was still waiting at the glass door to respectfully accompany him even on his departure from the studios, as if he was terrified of losing his highly professional image manager like him definitely had to have in front of a stranger like her.

"Sure it is... I also say the same thing to Bernard Arnault whenever he asks me what am I going to do in a romantic luxurious restaurant in the middle of a fashion week. Don't worry buddy, for having an exclusive taste with picking a French lady as your date, I won't tell it on you to your superiors."

The friendly bickering, which would be enlivening even for a stranger that didn't know them, ended with George losing reasonable arguments, that would back up his official reasoning behind a visit to one of the most luxurious restaurants in the French capital near the time of the mesmerizing and utterly idyllic Paris sunset. So while Charles got up from his desk with a goody-goody smile on his lips and passed by the manager with a supportive pat on his shoulder, the Brit only defeatedly snickered and gifted both the Dior designer and Pierre, who was silently standing at the window with a view at the Arc De Triomphe, with one last thoughtful look.

"When you will be done, just give me a call or a text message and I will come to pick Pierre up. Good luck you two..."

And with these words, George was gone as abruptly as he had appeared in the first place, leaving Charles and Pierre alone in the secluded studio.

For a few seconds, an uncomfortable silence spread across the room as Charles paid his full attention to finding a tape measure and his little handy notebook where the accurate body measurements of Pierre's wouldn't get lost forever, letting the unusually closemouthed actor freely wander around his work office for a little longer. It shouldn't be surprising that the first thing that had caught Pierre's attention after the beautiful view from the windows was a set of his photos and illustrations on the older's table - at the end of the day, the lively and naive kid on them was him, just fifteen years younger and still worry less.

"You don't look like someone, about whom I would be sure that he relishes in The Enchanted Ones." Candidly exclaiming, the French actor's hand grabbed the stock of the photos and started slowly going through them while his body leaned against the sturdy wooden table facing Charles, who looked like he successfully found everything he had been looking for with the measure tape and notebook being secured in his hands.

"And you definitely don't look like someone, who hates the movie."

"I never said that I hate the movie."

"And I never said that I relish in it..." Charles complacently chuckled when he was once again the one ending the discussion with a compelling argument. "Come here, I need to take your body measurement."

The commanding way with which the seemingly simple request was put out and which was leaving no space for further protests against it, made Pierre not only snort in disbelief over how literally Charles was already taking George's words about having the permission to do everything he wanted to do with him but at the same time, on a completely different note, for him oddly obey it, put the photos back on the work desk and deliberately walk up on the small platform where the designer was confidently waiting for him as if he didn't even expect Pierre to go against him in his studio unlike back in the movie exhibition.

"The hoodie off if you don't want to have a size bigger clothing."

Casually declaring with an unfazed expression, Charles made it seem like ordering people to get half-naked in front of him was a part of his daily routine, which in fact truly was as baffling as that probably sounded like to many - maybe for models, who were used to being nearly naked in front of dozens of strangers during hectic runway shows and even in front of cameras during photoshoots, the command wasn't strange at all, but Pierre, despite being an actor - a profession which to a certain point heavily lacked in the privacy and dignity aspect as well - visibly hesitated for a while.

If he wasn't confident about his own physique, his hesitation would probably last even longer and maybe lead to him refusing to do so entirely, but it was exactly his probably a bit too egoistic view of his own body image supported by the countless compliments from his supporters, that pushed him into assuredly taking the piece of clothing off and revealing the toned upper-body, which was a result of a strict workout plan, that was making him sweat his ass off in the gym almost every single day. Even at that moment, Charles' face remained collected as if he had been expecting such a view from Pierre since the very beginning or had seen enough of impressive six-packs throughout his styling career that it no longer was something shocking for his dark eyes.

"You maybe never said that you hate the movie, but your enthusiasm about the anniversary celebrations is hardly in there. I don't need to know you for years to see that."

"The celebrations are messed up-..." Pierre stopped himself mid-sentence and slightly jerked away when he felt the cold measuring tape wrapping around his hips and Charles' sudden close presence literally breathing down on his neck, while the designer was trying to read the exact number he had measured.

For a fleeting moment, it left Pierre uncomfortably tensed until he made himself once again believe that Charles LeClerc was the last person he should feel flustered about having this close. That he was the last person to make him care about anything, to begin with. And so with the freshly gained confidence to accept his fate of having the French as his personal stylist, but not go any further than bearing it, Pierre picked up where he had ended.

"...What is there to celebrate? The fact that after fifteen years the fame from the movie has successfully killed a kid, sent another to prison, caused paranoia and social anxiety to one, and forced the fourth to step down from the public life? Celebrating that like a grand posh event is nothing, but remorseless and yet, I am supposed to be here, all smiling and partying as if I was having the time of my life. I think that my lack of enthusiasm is more than self-explanatory."

"People are here to celebrate the story and the movie, which is up till today growing up with every young generation, they don't celebrate nor really care about what has happened to those, who portrayed the characters if it is not a good thing as ignorant as that sounds like. They don't want to know that and be disabused of their sweet illusions. Many if not all still have you labeled as this angelic and cherished eleven-year-old, they don't want to view you as a grown-up adult going through any sort of life struggles because it would ruin the movie for them.

No one wants to know that Daniel Radcliffe is no longer the young Harry Potter they grew up seeing on screens for eight long movies either. Absurd enough, you as the one, who played Arthur back then is a completely different person than the one you are now in the eyes of people. Just the fact that you have managed to build your name even beyond the fame from The Enchanted Ones is enough of achievement for a child star like you."

"Thank you for reminding me how brutally candid and opinionated French people are." Pierre disbelievingly snorted, biting his lower lip to prevent himself from replying with something more ungracious.

"No problem, your Americanized mind obviously needs it." Charles firmly pulled him closer with the measuring tape when he wrapped it around the actor's waist, not breaking the intense almost challenging eye contact with the piercing blue eyes for a second.

It was surprising, but Charles was actually the taller one - sure it was just a few centimeters, which would quickly be erased if Pierre got a pair of shoes with just a slight platform or heels, but still, the designer was with his overwhelming confidence towering above the actor with a puffed-up grin as if he was enjoying every single split-second of the harsh and yet in a way innocent quarelling. As if he was enjoying observing Pierre's face up close through his own eyes and not the lenses of cameras, which were somehow making the French look less appealing than he actually was when one had the rare chance to see him in reality.

"Says the overly French posh Dior designer. Are you sure you are going to survive in the States for longer than a week?"

"I am a personal stylist of the esteemed Pierre Gasly, I won't survive, I will thrive under the American spotlight, mon ange français."

 

Notes:

Useful little French Dictionary for this book:

mon ange français - my French angel