It's a day just like any other for Victor Salazar, the sun streaming through the fourth-storey window and casting him in a warm, euphoric glow as he buttons the cuff of his sleeve in front of the mirror in the corner of the bedroom.

Smiling to himself and turning to examine his lanky silhouette, Victor slips on the sweater vest he'd just thrifted last week, the red and yellow diamond pattern vaguely reminiscent of one of the Harry Potter houses, but he doesn't remember which-Andrew cares about it more than he does.

He tucks the sweater vest into his fitted black trousers before ruffling his dark curls and giving himself a final once-over, sighing heavily as he grabs his phone from the nightstand.

"So…" Victor says, sliding his keys into his other pocket as he pulls his beige trench coat from the hook on the wall a few feet from the bed and throwing it over his shoulder as he poses with a hand on his hip, "how do I look?"

"You look great, babe. You're gonna kill it today," Andrew says, the back of his hand draped over his forehead as he smiles up at him from the bed, his deep brown eyes sparkling from his lightly scarred, brown face.

Victor chuckles, putting his knee on the edge of the bed and leaning down to press a kiss to Andrew's lips, twitching as his skin rubs against stubble. "Thanks, babe."

Andrew's face scrunches as they pull away.

Victor frowns. "What?"

"Put some chapstick on, man. Your lips are dry as hell."

Rolling his eyes, Victor shrugs on his coat and reaches into the pocket, withdrawing some chapstick from within and uncapping it. He smothers it hurriedly across his lips before smacking them loudly. "Happy?"

"Very much. Have fun."

Andrew grabs him by the collar of his shirt and brings him in for another kiss as Victor rolls his eyes. When they separate, Victor slides his knees off the bed and stands up again, the old floorboards of their studio creaking beneath his feet.

"And can you please clean up in here today?" Victor says, knotting the belt of his jacket as he slips into one of the two pairs of black loafers he owns. "I feel like whenever I get back home there's more crap lying around."

"You got it, boss."

"I'm serious. Like, I'm pretty sure I heard rats running around in the kitchen last night. And you know how I feel about… bothering animals."

"Yeah, I know, I know. Just… go worry about your interview. I'll take care of it. It's my bad for slacking." Andrew rubs the bridge of his nose and takes a sharp breath as he tosses the covers away from him.

"Thank you."

"I mean, it's the least I can do since I don't even start work til later on, anyway." Andrew shrugs, stretching before he finally rises from bed.

"Oh… by the way… Did you wanna do something tonight? Just the two of us?"

Andrew raises an eyebrow. "Isn't that what we do every night?"

"No, I don't mean just falling asleep watching The Walking Dead. I'm getting kinda tired of that."

"Uh… sure. Yeah. I can think of something," Andrew says wearily, ruffling his tightly-cropped curls as he walks to the sink, turning the knob on the tap and filling up a glass from the counter with water. "Anyway, good luck. I love you. You're gonna do great."

Victor smiles softly, nodding. "Love you, too. I'll see you later, babe."

"Bye."

Victor blows Andrew a kiss before he snatches his briefcase from the floor. He retreats into the short corridor outside their room and pulls open the door to the hallway between flats, before locking the door behind him.

He jogs down the four flights of stairs to the ground level, the cramped, echoing cement chamber full of rusted railings a welcome reprieve from all the noise he knows is about to bombard him as soon as he exits the building.

The sunny air is deceptively cool against his skin, the tunnel of wind that greets him when he opens the door almost knocking his thick-rimmed glasses off his face. Victor reaches into his pockets again and slips his frozen hands into his knitted Christmas mittens as he makes his way across the sidewalk to stairs leading into the subway at Myrtle Ave.

He'd learned to ignore the stench of piss assaulting his nostrils as his feet hit the brick and concrete of the jungle on his descent, and today is no exception. Instead, he slips his earbuds into his ears and puts his music on shuffle, tapping his fingers against his coat as the gentle R&B melody of "Do It" by Chloe x Halle drowns out the din of his fellow commuters funneling into the subway.

Eyelids heavy, Victor pulls out his Metrocard and grumbles to himself as he swipes the card through the reader before he pushes through the metal turnstile and makes his way through the crowd.

When the steel doors screech open, Victor boards the J train into Manhattan, packing himself against the door and clinging to one of the bars awkwardly over an old woman's head. He smiles apologetically before he turns his attention to his phone and taps around on the screen, opening Little Fires Everywhere and picking up where he left off as the train sways to and fro around him.

Once the train has emptied significantly, Victor glances up at the old-fashioned screen projecting digital letters-Canal St.

His heart picks up and he swallows, throat dry from the filthy air, as he returns his phone to his pocket. He shifts his weight from foot to foot, bending his too-straight knees, before the train squeaks and breaks and the doors open; he hops off, leaving the plastic orange and beige interior for the dust and asphalt, hurrying through the turnstiles and up the stairs at Chambers St.

The street is full of cars and the sidewalks are awash with people disappearing into the skyscrapers on all sides. Victor's stomach pangs and breaks him from his focus, so he ducks inside a cafe and grabs a pastry to nibble on before returning out into the cold, chomping on his pastry with mittened hands before he finishes it and drops it into one of the bins he passes by on the corner of the road.

He pulls out his phone again, checking the email he'd received from the recruiter to ensure the address is correct, as he approaches a large, glass-paneled building like a large clam on the edge of the shore, beckoning him and hundreds of others inside. On the wall, the words Pierre Laver Publishing bursts through in gold, and he swallows thickly before he enters through the rotating doors.

The interior is imposing, black granite floors giving way to tall, thick metallic columns reaching up hundreds of feet, and Victor doesn't pause to think about the structural integrity even as his eyes rove around, awestruck, as people shove past him through the automatic barriers, flashing their cards before entering.

Clearing his throat, Victor approaches the reception area.

"Hello. 'Scuse me," he says quickly, waving his hand as he rests his other arm on the high desk. "Could I get a guest pass for La Frontière, please? I have an interview scheduled today at 9?"

The sullen receptionist doesn't even look at him as she slides a card across the desk and waves him away. He shrugs, picking up the little piece of paper and peering down at it as he walks to the lift, waiting until an empty one arrives before he steps in, still focused on the card for a moment, before he slips it into his coat pocket.

For a few seconds, as the number on the little display grows, Victor is almost at peace, taking deep, slow breaths to center himself. And when the elevator finally dings, making Victor jump, he smiles when the doors open.

He hesitates before stepping out into the short hallway, glancing down through the glass doors to where a receptionist sits at a round desk, the words 'La Frontière' lit up behind her. A group of people wheel a rack of expensive, fashionable garments across the reception area. Victor pauses, letting them pass, before he continues to the desk.

"Hi, I'm wondering if you could help me?" He asks.

The receptionist ignores him and he takes a deep breath as he props his elbows on the desk.

Victor withdraws a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket and holds it up to his face. "I have an appointment with a… Benji Campbell?"

As soon as the words leave Victor's mouth, a beautiful man a bit shorter than him, with gently tousled brown hair strides in, scowling as he puts a hand on his hip, looking as if he'd just stepped off the catwalk. "Victor Salazar?"

"Y-yes?" Victor's breath almost catches in his throat as he tries to pull his gaze away.

"Great… Human resources certainly has an… odd sense of humor." He chuckles coolly. "Follow me." He takes off down the corridor, where people dart back and forth without stopping to look at where they're going.

Grimacing, Victor follows almost running to catch up with Benji, whose strides are quick despite his stature.

Benji moves with purpose, his opaque black short billowing around his broad shoulders as they walk. Victor swallows as his eyes trail down to his narrow waist, to where his shirt is tucked into the deep maroon trousers that almost look painted on, highlighting every asset. His Chelsea boots are leather, new, expensive, probably… Givenchy?

Clearing his throat, Victor shakes his head and returns his gaze to Benji's face, inhaling sharply and turning his face away from the cute smattering of freckles dotting his nose, picturing Andrew in his mind's eye instead.

"Okay. So… I was Mia's second assistant, but her first assistant recently got promoted so now, I'm the first," Benji says quickly, gesticulating with the tablet in his hand as they pass racks packed to the brim with the latest fashions.

Victor scrambles to unlatch his old, cracked briefcase and withdraw some papers. "So you're replacing yourself?"

"Well, I am trying, but Mia sacked the last two people after only a few weeks… We need to find someone who can survive here, do you understand?" Benji shoves open the heavy glass door.

"Yeah, of course… Who's Mia?"

Benji pauses, rolling his golden eyes so hard, Victor wonders if they'll pop out of his pretty little head. He groans as the door thumps closed behind them. "Oh my god… I'm gonna pretend you didn't just ask me that… She's the editor-in-chief of La Frontière. Not to mention, a legend. You work a year for her, and you can get a job at any magazine you want. A million people would kill for this job."

They enter the office through another set of glass doors and Benji doesn't even pause, almost letting the door smack Victor in the face as he slips through.

"It sounds like a great opportunity. I'd love to be considered," Victor says, breathless.

Benji giggles maliciously for a second as he stands before a sleek, modern desk with a framed edition of La Frontière hanging over it, before he presses his lips together into a tight line as he tucks the tablet under his arm and turns around to face Victor.

"Victor… La Frontière is a… fashion magazine?" Benji says, his tone patronizing as he forces the smile from his face. "So interest in fashion… is crucial."

"What makes you think I'm not interested in fashion?" Victor asks, voice quaking as he quirks an eyebrow and he tugs at the belt of his trench coat.

A sharp ring cuts through the air and Benji slips his phone out of his back pocket, staring down at it. For a moment, he doesn't respond.

But then his face contorts and he grits his teeth, grumbling to himself. "Oh my god… No, no, no."

"What's wrong?"

Victor can only stand there right in front of the entrance to the office as Benji ignores him and darts over to one of the desks by the wall. He picks up the phone and smashes some numbers quickly, as if his life depends on it.

"She's on her way," Benji says into the headset, his voice more ominous than it has the right to be. "Tell everyone."

"She's not supposed to be here til nine?" says another man, who enters carrying a precarious stack of boxes. This one is more handsome than pretty, and taller than Victor, with dark, curly hair and brown skin. He's clad in lavender-a color Victor can't stand-but somehow the suit works for him.

Benji pulls out a compact mirror and snaps it open, examining himself in it and tapping the little bit of black lining his eyes before snapping it shut and tossing it back onto the desk. "Well, her driver just texted, said something about her facialist rupturing a disc or something… God, Rahim, these people…"

Rahim chuckles and picks up one of the boxes, stepping over to stand beside Victor and holding the box in front of his face before trying and failing to be discreet as he points and whistles in Victor's direction.

"That… I can't even talk about," Benji says, holding his hands up in surrender in front of him, just as Rahim pushes the door open behind Victor, startling him.

"All right everybody… gird your loins," Rahim calls out into the corridor, where a group of people go from standing like frightened deer to scrambling about in a panic in a second flat. He returns into the office, scrunching his face up in disgust. "Did someone eat an onion bagel? Nasty…"

Victor gulps, exhaling into his hand a few times and grimacing, trying to quiet the pounding of his blood through his veins as Benji disappears into the office down the hall. Through the glass behind him, Victor watches, wide-eyed, as the people in the hallway and in the glass-enclosed offices off to the sides rush to clean up. They change from slippers into pumps and re-apply their makeup. They even dump their food into the bin and tidy up what they can.

Benji sprints back into the room and zig-zags around the desks. He picks up a pile of magazines from one of them. Then, he returns into the office down the corridor. He plops the pile onto the desk, fanning it out. Finally, he pours a bottle of San Pellegrino into a glass and sets it on a coaster on the desk beside the computer.

Tipping his head to the side, Victor steps out of the way as Benji scrambles out of the office with the empty water bottle in hand, which he bins under one of the desks behind him. Benji takes a deep breath before he slips out the glass door into the hallway, running through the chaos and leaving Victor completely alone.

Humming, Victor pulls out the chair at one of the desks and plops down, staring at the white ceiling for a moment before a cubist painting on the opposite wall draws his attention instead. The anticipation of waiting makes him warm and sweaty. He drums his fingers on the smooth surface of the desk, the silence around him deafening.

A few minutes later, footsteps click down the hall and Victor's ears perk up as Benji returns and opens the door for a petite dark-haired woman wrapped in a dark brown fur coat and carrying a large Prada bag on her arm. Benji jogs to keep up with her and takes out his tablet, taking notes on every word she says.

"-And call my wife, tell her to please meet me for dinner at that wonderful place I went to with Massimo and also tell Lake I saw the pictures from that feature about the female fencers and they're truly… so unattractive. Is it so difficult to find some nice, slender female fencers?" the woman says, as she places her bag carelessly on top of Benji's tablet, before he quickly places it onto one of the desks in front of him. Without looking at him, the woman peels her coat off and drops it atop her bag.

"No, not at all, Mia," Benji says quickly.

Ahh… That's the infamous Mia, Victor thinks, chewing on the inside of his cheek.

"Am I reaching here?"

"No."

"Asking for the impossible?"

"No."

Mia continues her stride, entering the office across from where Victor sits. "Not really… Now, also, I need to see all the things that Rahim has pulled for Beyonce's second cover try. I wonder if she's lost any of that weight yet…" she pauses in the doorway, glancing at Victor before turning away and walking to her desk. "Who is that?"

Panicked, Benji slips in between the doorway and Victor, blocking him with his body. "Nobody… uh… well. HR sent him over for the new assistant job and I was supposed to interview him for you but… oh, god, he's hopeless." He laughs nervously.

Holding up her hand to stop him, Mia sits down at her desk. "Well, clearly I'll have to interview him myself because the last ones you chose were also completely useless... Send him in."

Benji pauses, biting his lip and glancing over his shoulder before he sucks at his teeth and nods. "Yes, ma'am."

"That's all," Mia says, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Right."

Pacified, Benji steps gingerly out of Mia's office in a way that would make Victor smug if he wasn't currently a collection of pure adrenaline and nerves.

"She wants to see you," Benji says quietly as he stands in front of the desk Victor is sitting at, adjusting the pile of magazines and the tablet in his arms. "Move!"

"O-okay-" Victor says, scrambling out of the seat and to his feet as Benji glances over his shoulder into Mia's office. He picks up his briefcase and his resume, only to have Benji gasp in horror and stop him in his tracks.

"Are you fucking serious? This is hideous," Benji hisses, grabbing the briefcase from Victor's hand and tossing it under the desk.

"Hey, what the hell?"

Benji shoves him toward the door of the office. "Don't let her see it. Go!"

Victor groans and sighs before he straightens his posture and stares down the corridor, where Mia sits menacingly at her desk, peering up through large, dark eyes like an owl. He gulps, taking a deep breath and wiping his palms on his trousers before he strides into the room.

Mia shuts one of her drawers loudly and leans forward on her hand. A collection of framed plaques and awards watches over her from the wall.

"Who are you?" she asks.

Blinking, Victor steps forward and places his resume on the desk as if it were made of glass, sliding it slowly toward her. "Hi… I'm Victor Salazar. I recently graduated from Georgia State."

"And what are you doing here?"

"Well… I think I'd do a good job as your assistant… Truthfully, I studied journalism and I came to New York to be a journalist but I sent out a bunch of applications everywhere until I got a call back from a recruiter… basically it's either this or bartending."

Mia takes one of the magazines from the spread out pile on her desk and opens it up on her desk, averting her gaze. "So you don't read La Frontière."

"Uh… no."

"So before today, you'd never heard of it."

"No…"

She continues to flip through the magazine, barely paying him any mind. "You have no style or fashion sense."

Victor scrunches his face and takes a step forward. "Don't you think that's a little subjective? I think-"

"No, no. That wasn't a question." Mia picks her gaze up from the magazine and wags her finger.

Face falling, Victor pauses for a moment, but he doesn't let that stop him. "Well, I was editor-in-chief for the Daily Georgian, I won a bunch of awards for my work on the teacher's union-"

"That's all." Mia goes back to reading, and Victor's blood boils in his veins.

He balls his fists at his sides, gritting his teeth as he towers over this tiny woman who somehow makes him feel so small. Taking a deep breath and holding it, Victor peers down at her through his glasses. He exhales as slowly as he can muster as he takes another step forward.

"You know what? I get it. I don't fit in here. I'm not fashionable or glamorous and I don't know a whole lot about fashion, but I'm smart, I work hard, and I learn quic-"

"I have the exclusive on the Beyonce feature," Rahim's voice cuts in, as he maneuvers into Mia's office from behind him, brushing past Victor's shoulder carrying a folder. He winks at Victor before he opens the folder up, as Mia turns her attention away from the magazine. "But I'm just realizing now that there are so many flowers. She may as well be in the botanical garden. It's ridiculous."

Victor purses his lips, sighing as he massages the bridge of his nose. "Thank you for your time… I guess."

"Who is that sad little person?" Rahim mutters, wrinkling his eyebrows as he glances at Mia. "Are we doing a before and after piece I don't know about?"

Shoving his hands into his pockets to stop them from trembling, Victor twirls around and exits the office with his head held high, even as his lip quivers and the door to Mia's office swings shut against his back like a boulder.

Benji jogs over, picking up the briefcase he'd discarded from the floor and handing it to Victor. "Hey, how did the interview go? Sorry about your briefcase…"

Snatching it from Benji's hands, Victor scowls. "Is she usually so… preoccupied?"

"She's a very important woman," Benji says, shrugging, as he leans against the desk, peeking over Victor's shoulder into Mia's office. His expression is sour as he glares at Victor before he averts his gaze. "You'll have to get used to not being the center of attention, sweet cheeks."

Victor bristles, tying the belt of his coat more securely. "It doesn't matter. I probably didn't even get the job."

"That bad, huh?" Benji asks, his tone almost gleeful. He clears his throat and looks down at his tablet. "Not everyone can survive here. Maybe you just need to toughen up."

Something stirs within Victor and he squeezes his hand into a fist again, nails digging into his palm around the handle of his briefcase. As gorgeous as Benji is, it's as if he chooses every word just to raise Victor's blood pressure.

"That's insane."

"It might be. But that's just how it is. But I guess it doesn't matter, because you didn't get the job," Benji says, mocking him with a sneer.

Victor doesn't say anything, instead staring at his feet. He growls low in his throat before he pushes the glass door to the corridor open and drags his feet through the empty hallway, footsteps echoing off the walls as he makes his way back to the reception and to the lift to take him down to the ground floor. All the while, he does what he can to force the memory of the last hour into the recesses of his mind and, perhaps, away from him completely.

The descent takes ages, as if time itself has stood still, while he stands in the lift completely alone, watching the numbers on the display shrink from thirty to one. Once he arrives at ground level and the ding sounds, Victor sighs as he exits, shuffling to the front desk to return his guest pass.

When he exits, returning to the city where the afternoon sun beats down but doesn't warm, the life drains out of Victor as he stares up at the building he'd just left for a moment, just before he turns on his heel and retreats, defeated, to the subway.