Chapter Two

Mmm…

He was walking up a podium, there were cheers, screams, flowers being tossed his way as he proceeded to the stage, where a large check with the digits 5 0 0 0 printed on it in big blocky letters awaited him.

He tried to get up, to walk up the steps, but realized to his horror that he was wearing a skirt. A skirt! Around him, the audience began to jeer, and then suddenly, the sprinklers were turned on, and alarm bells began to ring shrilly…

He awoke with a start, his heart racing as he reached out blindly to smack the alarm clock into oblivion. His shirt was sopping wet, his hair damp and hanging in his eyes as he looked up to see a brown-haired girl holding a bright red pail in her hands, bent nearly double laughing.

"MIAAAAKAAAA!" he growled, leaping up and wrapping himself around his twin sister despite her violent and very vocal protests. "HOW MANY TIMES HAVE I TOLD YA NOT TA DO TH—"

Their mother stuck her head into his room. "Is anything the matter, Genrou? Miaka, sweetie?"

He leapt away, bristling silently. "Nothing's wrong, mom."

Miaka let out a choked, and almost nervous, giggle. "Heh, that's right, nothing's wrong, mommy," she echoed cheerfully, nudging the pail discreetly behind her with her foot. "Nothing at all."

Her twin brother exploded the moment the door swung close again. "You sneaky little—"

"I'll scream for mom!" she threatened.

He slumped back onto the wet sheets, defeated.

"Anyway, it's almost four," she continued, bending down to retrieve the pail and lug it back to the bathroom adjoining his room and hers. "You're a pig to sleep so late, Gen-chan, and—"

"IT'S ALMOST FOUR!" he screeched, hopping off the bed and racing to the toilet. "Oh my god, oh my god," he kept chattering as he brushed his teeth and splashed water on his face, before running back to his room and pulling out some clothes at random. "I'm late, I'm late, I'm late."

He rushed past a befuddled Miaka, who stood there gaping at her brother. "What are you late for, Gen-chan?"

He mumbled something incoherent and stuffed his things into a small pouch, before he skidded on the wet bathroom tiles and burst into her room, slamming the door shut behind him and accidentally locking her out. Ignoring his sister's outraged shout, he began to rummage through the mess that decorated Miaka's room.

"Get out of my room, Genrou, or I'll scream, I swear!"

"Girls shouldn't swear!" he hollered back, grabbing a black rumpled dress from the floor and swiping a silver choker from the dresser, dropping it into the bag along with a few other items as well. "I'm going out!"

He opened the door and ran downstairs.

@@@

Houjun gave Nuriko a thumbs up as the slender male model sauntered past him, giving him a peck on his cheek. Nuriko was a regular with the agency Houjun worked with, and incidentally, Houjun had been the one who had done up the lavender-haired man's portfolio.

"You'll do fine," he laughed tiredly and gently nudged Nuriko away. "Now shoo, good-looking. I've still got work."

"Don't stress too much, Jun," the younger man prodded him, concern in his voice. "You need a coffee or something?"

He thought a moment, and then nodded a grateful thanks. "Yea, that'd be good."

Houjun glanced at his watch. Four-thirty. Half an hour more, and thank god, the crowd had already thinned out in the early afternoon. There were only a few girls left waiting, and he stood, trying to relax his cramped arms as the next girl entered from the adjoining studio where Doukun was working. Doukun was also from the agency Houjun worked with. Myou Jyuan had been pleasantly surprised when his son had decided to take an interest in the business.

He smiled at the girl and nodded his encouragement as she posed. Albeit a little too stiffly, he decided.

Click.

@@@

How did girls wear this stuff?

As Genrou stepped out of the changing rooms, his jaw dropped and he very nearly turned back into the cubicle. Instead, he stood there, his arms hanging lax by his sides, his eyes wide in amazement and horror, at the sight that greeted him in the mirror.

The dress was vaguely obscene. It bared both shoulders, and was held up only by two thin straps that resembled spaghetti. It was low cut, and had built in cups.

Cups! He could feel a flush creeping onto his cheeks even as he tried to tear his gaze away from the reflection. He had never considered that aspect of pretending to be a woman.

With a low growl, he yanked the rubber band off his hair, letting it fall messily to his shoulders as he frantically ran his hand through the unruly locks, his other hand clumsily grappling with the lip-gloss he had filched from Miaka.

"This had better be worth it," he grumbled, as he grabbed the small bag and stuffed everything he was holding inside. He glanced at his watch and nearly screamed again as he scrambled for the exit.

The door of the changing rooms slammed shut behind a flurry of muted curses.

@@@

Doukun rubbed his eyes wearily and slipped on his spectacles, looking up just as someone burst in. His jaw dropped.

The woman before him was tall and slender, and she looked as though she had just come from the gym, fresh and glowing as she was. Her hair, tousled and as red as crackling coals undermined by a darker shade, fell in soft waves around her face. She was well built, with the square shoulders that clothes were made for, and a slim silver choker was tied around her neck, setting a glittery effect to the simplicity of her outfit.

She had full lips spread slightly, shining with pink gloss, and wide eyes that were heavily outlined. The eyes…what an unusual color. They were flashing dark amber, with flecks of gold that he could see from the few feet that separated them.

Hastily, he reminded himself to be professional, and, picking his jaw up and blinking a few times to reassure himself that his eyeballs had stopped goggling, he smiled at her and gestured to the backdrop.

"Which section are you competing for?"

She cocked her head and looked at him wordlessly.