Of course he’d hate it. He knew Blaine was going to hate it. Sebastian was usually blunt and straight to the point even with Blaine who could react quite badly, but for fucks sake he had to lie about this outfit being hotter. It was a stupid white lie so that he’d wear it without a fit but it seems Blaine has seen through the bullshit once again. Of course the thing was hideous but Blaine had agreed to do this fashion show. If he wasn’t going to do it the right way than what the hell was he going to tell the designer? Sebastian feels the headache coming on from just thinking about the mess alone that is Blaine having a diva meltdown and him having to go talk to her.
Green hues having a fed up glare in them, he hangs the outfit on the small silver rack of clothing and rolls his eyes. Why, despite his behavior, did Sebastian always want to continue pleasing him and assisting him? He could quit right now if he wanted but the thing is – he didn’t want to! It was a confusing mental war he had with himself every day. Plus of course he needed the money. Finally, arms cross against his chest and he raises an eyebrow. ❝But it was made custom for you. She can’t just put it on a fucking model and call it good. This is a fashion show, Mr. Anderson — to showcase her WORK. You’ve signed a contract agreeing to go out there wearing her clothes so its probably a good idea to wear the damn thing even if she did change it last minute.❞
Blaine can feel his pulse picking up the longer Sebastian insists that he put on the hot mess hanging from his hand. There was absolutely no amount of begging and pleading or going the opposite route with trying to use some tough love or logic that was going to change his mind. The press would have a field day with comments about what he looked like. His fans will think he’s on drugs or had some sort of mental fashion breakdown. AND that barely touches on the thousands of comments that will be waiting for him all over social media. Not that he cares what people say… Not at all. Oh God, he does Read one horrible review of yourself and you’ll never want to do it again. Or you’ll become something else to make sure that feeling never repeats itself.
Sebastian is doing his best to convince him to commit career suicide (okay, he’ll still wake up famous tomorrow but he’s getting worked up and this is getting worse by the minute) and he isn’t having anything of it. Long, thin fingers snap up with his palm facing his assistant. Both brows freeze in place as high up on his forehead as they can. Fire blazes behind his golden hazel eyes and ALLLL over his face is one word. N o. “If you bring that thing closer, I swear to God, I’ll find some scissors and turn that back into the Kleenex it was obviously made out of.” His fingers curl towards his palm and then both hands twist into tight fists shoved against hip bones barely covered by the waistband of his leather pants and belt. “Go tell her to find a model. Throw it in the trash where it belongs. Or…,” he decides..even better, “If she wants her entertainment to stick around and not tell her to go to hell? Don’t ask them to publically humiliate themselves or..they–aka I–am out of this hell.” And now we are entering Code Red. So says the tell tale biting of his bottom lip that warns..this is about to get even more UGLY.
pianokeysandbowties 