Disclaimer: I don't own Sephiroth or Vincent. Blah, blah, blah.

VV Designer's

By: Avina Garamond

Everyone who is a fashion designer has their own "thing." This "thing" has to be found without experimentation, or all assets will just deluge down the drain. I spent years sketching. People, clothes, it was my thing. If anyone called me gay, I replied with a "So?" It never failed to surprise them. I was so conservative in my sexuality. My sketchbooks piled up in a corner of my room. My father hated me for my sexuality, and my mother was so deeply saddened, she would go into hysterics every time she saw me at my sketchbooks.

I went to college, to business school. I researched the trades of every major fashion designer ever. I learned what they did wrong and it was either one of two things: they changed their style, or they didn't change their style. Fashion designers had to go with what people wanted, in order for people to want them. Oh, it's a cruel, cruel world.

Now, my "thing" is conservative – made to be formal, naughty, subtle, sultry, seductive, sexy, but never, ever showing more than what had to be. I loved using blacks and reds in my outfits. They were the epitomes of the color spectrum (or not… black isn't a color, is it?). Roses at night. Romance in the dark. That's my vibe. As people started to find shorter styles sexier, I lengthened my style to be the perfect compliment. It worked. Long, sexy coats with my symbol (a red VV) flew off the coat racks in thousands, millions! When the styles floated towards length, I shorted my coats and added inches to my dresses. I practically guaranteed a sexy look to any body.

I became famous among celebrities and major fashion designers within a few years. I climbed to the top with ease. But to the great surprise of everyone, I stayed there. I had found my niche, but I was also flexible enough to move in it.

Now, several years later, I sit on a stool in the dressing room, waiting for my final model to dress. Platinum blonde Katie was one of the rare blondes I employed. I prefer dark brunettes, but a fashion designer must know how to attract all crowds.

She wore a dark red dress, long but cut at the sides sexily, exposing black knee-length boots and black garters. Sexy. She had long black evening gloves, one actually worn on her hand, the other simply held. The other hand was perfectly manicured with dark red acrylics, the color matching her sultry, dark colored lips. A very dark dress to go with her fair hair, but of course, that's what accessories are for. A mixture of curls and straight bar hair clips defined her hair perfectly. About her neck was a thick gold chain with a dark garnet pendant. Perfection. I tell my models they have to be above perfection but they always disappoint, only reaching perfection and not able to rise any higher.

Now, the show would start soon and my models sat primly in a line on special black (imprinted with the red VV trademark) chairs. They looked sexy, each and every one of them. I left them so that I could sit with the rest of the designers and watch the show. A friend of mine (friends being a rarity among us designers) said that a new stylist was invited. He had become a hit in his country and bled out to his neighboring countries as well, so they decided to see how he compares.

First, we watched some major designers (whom I call boring). I swear, their styles, while changing, are never… new. They follow the crowd too much. Now, predicting the crowd is never good, but neither is waiting for such an impossibly long time. There's always a risk that they'll be too late to follow the people. Well, enough about that.

The next performance was astounding with bright blues, lime-greens, extraordinary yellows and dazzling pinks. The dresses were puffed or layered but incredibly slimming, even though white was used extensively. I couldn't believe it. Such a dazzle of color and styles…

I felt pity at the designer. He would not last. The judges went wild for him/her. The show pulled out suits and shirts and skirts and dresses and accessories and shoes. It was intense.

"Introducing new designer, Sephiroth!" the announcer called. I was surprised myself. Dark navy suit, metallic blue shirt, black tie and polished black shoes. Complimenting hair color? Silver. A long, knee-length, straight waterfall of molten silver. Blue-green eyes to match. Body to die for. He was beyond perfection. He was going to be my obsession from now on.

This… Sephiroth, bowed. No last name? I was curious. Well, after that show, I was glad I wasn't next. I pitied the next couple designers. It was true, although there were good models and nice clothes and accessories… they didn't compare. Finally, it was my turn. My models paraded down the catwalk, posed, flirted, and were utter perfection. I never failed to get 10's. Never 9's. Never.

Hours later, we fashion designers got together for cocktails. I sipped my martini and tried to prod the olive with a toothpick. I watched the proceedings, deeming which people it was worth my time to talk to.

Sephiroth had a few people already talking to him. I will talk to him too. I cornered him as he reached for a glass of champagne.

"You had quite a show," I said.

"Thank you. I'm glad that you approve," Sephiroth said.

"I never said I approved," I said smoothly. He laughed.

"Ah, yes. We don't like anyone, do we?" I couldn't think of anything to say to that. Well… we didn't…

"My name is Sephiroth," he introduced himself.

"Vincent Valentine." I shook his hand.

"Ahhh… I took my inspiration partly from you," he said. I scoffed.

"Not too much." Sephiroth only smiled.

"Partly, I said. Now, I'd like my champagne, so if you could excuse me…"

The arrogance! The egotist!

"I don't think I've finished," I said shortly. This grounded him nicely. He stopped moving and looked at me. "If this is an experiment, you will not be able to stay here, at the top. You need to be consistent."

"But not too consistent," Sephiroth interrupted.

"You don't interrupt me. Understand?" I snapped at him. "You can't set the style. People don't go with style. Styles go with people." He snorted.

"Yes, of course," he said. "That's why I have money and you're losing it. Now, excuse me." He turned his back on me and left towards the table. The gall! I left the cocktail party early.

I went to a few private social outings later in the evening, but I could not forget that God-like figure. I went back to my hotel room and opened a new sketchbook. I sketched that godly form again and again and again. I dressed it in my outfits. I made outfits for it. I spent hours, sleep forgotten. I finally looked at the clock. Six AM. I have an outing at ten o'clock tomorrow morning. I went to bed, sketchbook in my arms.

I had three hours of beauty sleep, and I had an hour to take a shower and put on make-up to hide the weariness of my eyes. I put on my favorite, but subtle, cologne and walked to the limo, waiting to deliver me to my outing.

Now I take a moment to digress to the subject of cologne. People think that because I'm gay, and a fashion designer, I wear perfume. Excuse me, I'm still male. I wear cologne. This particular scent was very nice, not musky but a nice spicy kind of scent.

Alright, the limo stopped and I stepped out of it, arriving at the mansion where the outing was to take place, fashionably late at around ten forty-five… I immediately went to the bar to order a gin and tonic. Oh look, God was there. He smiled towards me and nodded to the bartender.

"Put that on my tab," he told him. I lifted my glass at Sephiroth and nodded in thanks.

"To what do I owe this honor?" I asked. He cocked his head at me.

"It's congratulations," he said.

"For what?" He chuckled.

"You didn't watch the modeling show yesterday. You were the second best on it. Marked all tens except for one judge who gave you a… nine point eight, I believe."

"The gall!" I exclaimed scandalized. "Who finished highest?" The smirk gave me the answer. I set my gin and tonic on the table, refusing to drink again.

"Enjoy it while you can," I sneered and left to mingle. I heard him laugh behind me. His egotism made me angry. But his body was stuck in my head and taunted me with its irresistibility! I sneaked a glance back at him later in the party.

Bright blue shirt. White jacket. With pants that were turned up at the leg, showing up bright blue. Shiny white dress shoes. Why cruel fate?!

I left this outing early too. I went from party to party, finding him invited to every single one. I was ready to scream. I waited for my limo to arrive. It was running two minutes late, and I was irritated beyond belief.

"I took the liberty of cancelling your limo," I heard a familiar voice behind me. I turned around to see Sephiroth's smug face.

"Why?" I asked, voice neutral. What the hell for?! My inner self screamed.

"So that I can have the pleasure of offering you a ride home," he said. He opened the door to his limo for me. I accepted, sliding in gracefully. I didn't have another ride home anyway, unless I took a cab. And that was just disgusting. He came after me, shutting the door. I looked around. He had ordered a party limo with neon lights. A fought the urge to retch. A party limo was as vile as a cab.

"You don't like?" he asked cockily, getting a champagne from the refrigerator and pouring me a glass.

"You like bright colors. I veer away from them, in limousines as well as in dress," I said. He chuckled.

The ride was quiet. I sipped my champagne very slowly and still had half a glass left by the time the limo stopped at my hotel.

"Are you gay?" he asked suddenly. I nodded.

"Are you?" I asked back.

"Of course. Would you mind if I escorted you to your suite?" he asked. Oho? He was flirting with me! I smiled.

"Feel free to stay for a drink," I said. The door opened and we both climbed out. We took the stairs up to the lobby and the elevator to the top-most floor. I opened my suite – a gigantic five bedroom suite, lavishly decorated in red velvet and black leather. I was known here.

He whistled softly and it was my turn to smirk. I poured him a glass of wine while he sat on my black leather couch. He looked out of place here. White and blue on black and red.

"Do you live here?" he asked. Oh, so he caught on.

"Yes, actually. I wanted a view so I bought out the top floor of the hotel."

"Certainly a nice view. I can't blame you," he said. I sat next to him, a glass of wine in my hand as well. We made small talk for a while. We veered away from business at first, which was a good thing because I was ready to strange the smug bastard. But yet… like most of my conversations, it ended up being mostly gossip. I was scandalized to learn that my friend wore a white scarf early this morning! And covered it up with the excuse that he had a cold too! But it was the worst possible thing to wear with the black tux he wore today! No wonder it was covered in lint. I made a special note in my mind to not talk to him again.

Now, Sephiroth was not idly sipping his wine while talking to me. His left hand was playing with a lock of my hair. Well, I didn't really mind, mostly because it was this God-like figure that was doing it. His hand fell to my cheek, touching it lightly. His hands were soft and I pressed my face into his hand, touching him more. He chuckled as I looked at him through my long eyelashes.

He kissed me. It was nice. Two days of knowing each other and for some reason, I was alright with that.

His hand slipped under my shirt and I pulled away.

"No?"

"You need to work a lot harder to get that," I said. I handed him my business card.

"Until we meet again," I said. He took the hint and left, looking pretty angry. I chuckled. I won.

When this fashion show was done and over with, I returned back to New York. I thought I'd never see him again. Was I surprised when he knocked on my door! He simply said he had enough time to fool around.

Oh, we flirted with each other for weeks and the kisses between us became too many to count. But today, something different happened. He brushed his tongue against my lips… and I pushed him away, and out the door. I wouldn't have that. He left back to his country looking very disgruntled.

He visited every month for two weeks before returning back to whatever country he was from. I only asked once and didn't bother to remember. This time, he had me on my back, lying on the couch. He kissed my neck sweetly. God, he was such a good kisser. He kissed me all over, whatever bare inch of skin he could find. Oh God…

He took my clothes off, piece by piece. It was like a strip tease. Except that I was the one being teased by it. He knew what he was doing, and though I hadn't had sex in a while (no one worthy enough to take up my time), it hadn't hurt at all. The morning was a different matter, but with an ice pack to sit on and a warm body to curl into, I was happy.

I almost felt sorry for him when I saw his horror-stricken face as he looked at his budget. Crash. Burn. Profits disappeared. I laughed and dismissed his mood, paid his debts and took him under my wing. He lived with me and worked under me.

He'd kiss my feet now if only I'd asked. Well, I did tell him he couldn't stay at the top.