You were a model.
A famous model, actually.
You were on the cover of every magazine, prideful of your appearance. Many magazines had featured you on the cover. You were raised well, and sure in school, you were teased by your peers, but you got through that shit. You were now a model, but there are something that made you differ from most of the models.
You were androgynous.
Yes, androgynous. You were born with both male and female physical traits in your physical appearance. You were teased in school due to this, due to your half-male half-female appearance. You were biologically (female/male), however you weren’t fearful. You were proud of it. Sure, you had the bumps from the teasing you were hurt before, the emotional scars, but now it was completely different. Anyways.
You were now modeling once again for a fashion magazine. You were both featured in male and female modeling. Right now you were in male clothing, posing for the camera. Fitting jeans with a black leather jacket and white t-shirt with combat boots. As pictures of you were taken, you noticed a blonde haired model looking at you, curiosity filling his eyes. He definitely was male. He had shoulder length blonde hair now in a ponytail, beautiful brandeis blue eyes gazing at you. He had a muscular build and you couldn’t help but feel embarrassed due to that. He wore a white shirt, simple brown suede shoes and khaki slacks with a green and white striped scarf, the top buttons undone so that the upper part of his chest was exposed. He looked awfully dashing, and you could slowly feel a blush arriving to your cheeks. “That was great, (Y/N)! Quickly change into this set of clothing and let us readjust your makeup. You’re going to model with Francis over there!” The head makeup artist said to you, pacing quickly towards you.
“Francis?” You asked, as the makeup artist handed you a set of clothes. You took the set of clothes, which now consisted of a white flowing dress, periwinkle blue cardigan and simple brown flats. You took the clothes quickly as you were quickly rushed to the dressing room, changing and having your makeup wiped off with more smeared onto your face as quickly and neatly as the makeup artists could do. You didn’t even receive an answer to who Francis was. When you exited the dressing room, you saw Francis already on the set, hands in his pockets. He looked up, and you looked at him. Butterflies had invaded your stomach, and you blushed.
“That’s Francis. Now c’mon, there’s no time to wait! Go pose with him!” The makeup artist said as you walked at a quickly pace to Francis. As soon as you were in front of him, he took your hand and kissed it. Well, that was peculiar. He looked up at you, the brandeis blue orbs now looking into your (E/C) eyes.
“Bonjour, (madam/monsieur).” He said. His smooth voice made you smile at him, a blush now taking place on your cheeks. “I’m Francis Bonnefoy. Please to make your acquaintance. I have heard of you.” He said, smile on his face.
“It’s nice to meet you too, Mr. Bonnefoy.” You said. “We ought to get on with the photo-shoot, or else the makeup artist will get cantankerous.”
“I understand.” He said, and that’s when you both began modeling with one another. Numerous shots were taken, most of them with you both in romantic poses, representing love. You were perfectly fine with such thing, as you had done this numerous times. However, the last pose with the French model made you have a stronger feeling of affinity towards him.
The last shot featured you were your arms draped over the Frenchman’s shoulders, both of your eyes closed as his muscular arms were snaked around your waist, holding you close as both of your eyes were closed, foreheads gently touching. You felt so safe in such embrace, and it felt so... So right. You only knew the man for a few minutes, yet a fire had alighted within you towards him. Seven to eights shots of you both were taken in such pose. However, you wanted to be trapped in this moment forever, where you felt so warm, so safe, so... Right. Of course, time didn’t freeze, hands on the clock only turning one way. You both were forced to part, but before you could leave the set which you both were on, he took your hand, and you looked back at him.
“Mon ami,” He began. “Would you like to go have a coffee with me? I do believe that I should get to know you better.” He said, a flirty smile on his face. With that smile, you couldn’t resist. You had to accept.
“Of course, Mr. Bonnefoy.”
“It’s just Francis. Just call me Francis. I will see you in a bit, mon chere.”
It was only a few months ever since you first met the male model. You were introduced to his friends over the course of time, many working in the entertainment industry with him. Arthur Kirkland, a British gentleman was a guitarist in a band called FACE, which consisted of him, his little brothers Alfred (The drummer) and Matthew (The bassist) and of course, Francis, the amazing vocalist of the band. You also met Gilbert, the actor who stared in The awesome trio a famous sitcom, also constantly claimed himself Prussian, and Antonio, a cheerful bright Spanish man who was a famous guitar player.
Right now you were with Francis in a cafe, the same one where you both got to know each other after modeling. Several tabloids and gossip magazines released articles, claiming that you were were dating and were in love. Oh, how much you denied such thing, and how hypocritical due to the fact that you wanted to be in such a relationship with him. Hands now clutching a warm cup of coffee in your hands, you looked at Francis.
Your relationship had strengthened over the last few months. You both met each other, met each other during model shoots. You met with him many times, at the local park, a few restaurants, numerous times during photo shoots and of course, the small little cafe you were now sitting in, which was ran by a Belgian woman named Laura. She had brown hair, always decorated with a green ribbon. She had stunning green eyes, and she always dressed simply. Her little, small café was famous for the tranquil, romantic atmosphere it gave away, and most of all the waffles. The heavenly taste of the waffles made your tastebuds jump in excitement, and with the strawberry sauce, you felt your tastebuds get alight in the fire of savor.
“So, (Y/N),” Francis began as you both were tucked in the corner of the cafe, both eating waffles with coffees as drinks. “we’ve known each other for a few months.”
“I know. It’s been pretty quick.” You replied, toying around with the waffle, moving it back and forth, to and fro with the fork gripped in your hands.
“What people say about you online is horrible.” Francis said. You simply shrugged your shoulders. Haters gonna hate. “Mon ami, you don’t seem to mind about such ludicrous comments.”
“That’s because haters are gonna hate.” You said, taking a sip of coffee. “I was teased for being androgynous when I was in high school anyways, and look where I am now?” You asked Francis. “I’m a model for both males and females clothing, and I’m proud of it.”
“I have something to tell you, though.” Francis said. You looked at the Frenchman. You saw a blush begin to dust his cheeks, and you got curious. He slightly stood up from his seat, looking down into the depths of your (E/C) eyes. He wiped a bit of strawberry sauce away from the corner of your mouth. His head dipped low, blonde locks of his now cascading down his face. “Je t’aime.” And the kiss was planted on your lips.
Instant euphoria bursted within you. In a matter of seconds, you both were making out across a table in a small cafe late at night, his hands moving up and down your back, your arms around his neck. You felt safe in the kiss, the ecstasy and sudden rush of feelings burning throughout you. Affinity, affection, euphoria, tenderness, passion, love.
The making out scene stopped when there was a flash of a camera, and you both looked at the source of the flash. Your dear friend, Elizabeta Héderváry was now squealing, camera on her hands. “I knew it! I just knew you both liked each other!”
“Shut up and go away, Liz!” You said, a blush now on your cheeks. Francis chuckled as he pulled you closer to him, Elizabeta now squealing once again and running off to report to Laura about her new OTP. You shook your head in embarrassment, Francis kissing your forehead.
“Ma chere, so we’re now a couple?” He asked, hands snaked around your waist, eyes now twinkling with fondness towards you. His tone was flirty, his smile enchanting you.
“I think so, according to Elizabeta.” You said. Francis smiled, then whispering into your ear,
“No matter what people say or how people perceive you, I will love you. It doesn’t matter if you are androgynous, it doesn’t matter if you look more masculine or feminine, it doesn’t matter how you act. Vous êtes belle. My love for you is unconditional. Je t’aime.” He said, before he smashed his lips into yours again.
It never mattered to him.
He was in love with you.
And that was it.