The fitting model
Fashion was a cruel world ruled by pretense and a touch of luxury. From a very new pair of sunglasses, to some shiny shoes made in a factory somewhere in Europe, as stated on their label.
Yuuri used to avoid the advertisements every time he clicked down in a YouTube video and he ignored every brand new product that would be printed on a bus stop. He never had an eye for fashion to begin with. He wasn't willing to sacrifice a nice pair of comfortable shoes he bought in an outlet store for that "popular" brand, which were rather expensive and most of the time uncomfortable to wear. He loved his feet after all.
However, there were those times where he would end up going to stores with his friend Pichit who knew the name of each brand and product one could find in stores like Saks. He often sat in a corner, marveling at how ten people could get into a fight over a plain shirt as if it was the seventh wonder of the world. Yuuri could even put money on the fight just to keep things interesting. Though he didn't understand how people would go from fighting over a piece of clothing and then practically six months later have the same piece of clothing end up discarded.
From time to time, several items would occasionally catch his eye. They looked nice and he went and tried them on sometimes, only to find that they either didn't fit him, they made him look ridiculous, or both. Since he was still a child he hardly found clothing that would suit his chubby body. It was frustrating to no end. He was just slightly bigger than the average Japanese and looked skinner than the average American. But every time he tried some clothes in those 'nice fashion stores', he would leave not even fifteen minutes later feeling miserable and fatter than a pig.
Why did he even bother to look? He didn't need anything. Every single item in his closet was always clean and looked stylish on him. His style had no brand, no glamour and even so, in the crowded places he felt special because in a world of brands he was unique in his own way.
Sometimes he thought it was a torture what his friend Pichit went through in order to wear a coat with an European tag. How was it pronounced? Balmaino, bailman, batman? He didn't bother to remember the names. He saw how his friend starved himself a few weeks to enter into that and a few weeks more to afford the item itself.
Why to buy something so expensive if you had to sacrifice basic needs as food? He didn't understand, perhaps he never would.
He took his bag and went for a walk. It was snowing in New York and the cold wasn't precisely something he enjoyed but it was indeed better than staying home watching catwalks with Pichit all day long.
The crowded city always made him feel as a tiny ant wondering if a foot would come over him and kill him in a shot. It wasn't he didn't like the sights the city had, but sometimes it felt too much to live in the capital of the world where everyone seems to be so rich and powerful when you are like a shadow of a nothing a wall.
He often wondered how he had decided to study Arts here and not staying in Japan, where he didn't have to struggle with language barriers neither cultural shocks.
He entered central park and wandered around with no path in particular. At night the place was indeed beautiful and one could enjoy a peaceful time with no many people running.
Yuuri then saw a man sitting on a bench nearby the frozen lake. He looked so aristocratic with a coat of black fur, sunglasses and a cup of Starbucks on one hand and a purse on the other, both perfectly held by leather gloves. However, it was not what he was wearing but his hair what caught his eye. It was as if stars were falling from heaven and dancing to the earth. It looked so silky and perfect. He touched his own hair, with a few knots and a few split ends and felt ashamed.
Yuuri took his drawing book from his bag and sat in front of the man. His hand started to draw lines on the hellish paper, sketching the stranger as accurate as possible and adding shades and lights with what a cheap pencil could do. A few minutes went by until the drawing took shape. Yuuri touched the paper in an approbatory way before looking to his front and the city lights beyond.
The man stood up, throwing his coffee cup and bag to a nearby container.
Yuuri picked his things and ran to the container, using a few Kleenex to take the bag out and clean it. Then he ran after the man as fast as his chubby body allowed him.
"E-excuse me sir," he said, barely reaching the stranger. He felt so nervous. His thick accent decided to pop up at the worst times and his baggy clothing made him look like a homeless man, no offense meant. "Droppu this!" Yuuri held the purse in his palms as a broken English emanated from his mouth.
The person arched a perfect brow under his sunglasses.
"You can keep it, it's from last season. It's worthless now." The man kept his steady walk, not even glancing Yuuri's way.
Yuuri held his breath and his politeness soon morphed into anger.
He remembered how much his family had to work to afford his major in the United States. How much he had to study to keep his scholarship and how he had to work afterwards to have a piece of food to eat.
"N- n-nothing is worthless!" he raised his voice, loud enough to be heard at the distance. "Do you have any idea how many children could be fed with what this thing costs? You must be kidding me!" in an outburst of emotion Yuuri threw the item directly to the stranger, not minding if it happened to hit his face by mistake, not that he cared even if it did.
"Instead of throwing these things to the trash you should be helping someone!" Yuuri yelled out as his hands turned white at the knuckles as a result of how angry he currently was. He turned and left, running until he became a subtle shadow among the busy crowd and the city lights.
A/N: Thanks to the lovely JballinR12 for being an awesome beta. And thank YOU for reading.