creds to lourrygum on ao3 !
i only really update when i find a story i rlly like, and i rlly like this one so :)
Overall, Michael likes his job.
It was hard, initially; breaking into an industry that tends to chew you up and then spit you out after it's done absorbing all your nutrients (Calum has pleaded with Michael to stop using that metaphor several times; Michael will never stop). But he'd made it in the end, despite not having an eight pack and never being incredibly prepared, or willing, to strip down to his underwear for a photoshoot at 8 in the morning.
He knows he owes a lot to Calum, who, at this point, isn't even just his manager anymore, but a quarter manager, half friend, and a quarter father. It's a lot of roles to play but he plays them all very well and Michael loves him a lot even though it baffles him how Calum, even though he's the same age as him, can have his shit together to the extent where he can manage Michael.
Calum had been the primary reason Michael had gotten his job in the first place, although it was kind of hard walking into interviews and having the interviewer assume it was Calum that wanted to come model for them, not the pasty-skinned pierced and tattooed boy with a vaguely annoyed expression on his face.
His attitude was something he had refused to change, because if he lost his snark, then what was left? Just another cookie cutter male model clone – Michael liked to think he was better than that. He was kind of a dick (or just plain annoying, depending on who you asked) until you got to know him, but he liked to think he was an okay person, and his charm and general kindness was just buried deep down and was then discovered if the person would stick around long enough to get to know him. Like a prize.
Anyway, it's all about confidence, modelling. And Michael can be the cockiest motherfucker in the whole room when he wants to be. Runways are a walk in the park – especially when it's tuxedos he's modelling, God. He looks damn good in a tux. So his somewhat unique personality tends to be overlooked – he does his job, he makes people want to look like him and in turn buy the clothes he's modelling, he makes the agency their money, he lies to them about following their diet plans – he's given them no reason to dislike him, or treat him badly.
So he can't figure out why the fuck he's been signed up to work with Luke 'Face of Calvin Klein and Overall Dickhead' Hemmings.
-
As with every life-changing, agony-filled event that Michael's agency – "Elite" – orders him to take part in, Michael finds out through a goddamn e-mail. He's lying on the sofa in his dressing room, face down, when Calum runs in.
"Michael! Shit, man, are you okay?" Calum comes to crouch down next to the older man, putting a hand on his shoulder and shaking it. "I got your text, what happened?"
Michael turns his head and looks at him morosely, his cheek smushed against the sofa. "I have to do a shoot with Luke Hemmings." He says, voice flat. Calum takes a deep breath, and Michael can see a variety of emotions dancing across his face, before he settles on exasperation. He goes from soothingly rubbing Michael's shoulder, to slapping it sharply. Michael yelps. "If you bruise me, you're gonna be in fucking trouble." He warns. Even hickies weren't allowed in Michael's line of work. What a life.
"You texted me saying there was a medical emergency, you dick." Calum sits on the sofa next to him, shaking his head incredulously at Michael. "Doing a shoot with Luke is not a medical emergency."
"Calum." Michael says through his teeth. "Don't you remember the AFA'S?"
"The Australian Fashion Awards?" Calum quirks a thick brow. "What about them?"
