The Analyst

𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚂𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚢-𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚎: 𝙼𝚢 𝚗𝚊𝚖𝚎 𝚒𝚜 𝚃𝚊𝚔𝚊𝚖𝚒 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙸 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚊 𝚏𝚊𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚝𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚘𝚠

Why the fuck was this convention center so god damn cold?

I mean really, it was freezing. I sat in a chair in the front row, leaned back with my arm around the back of the chair beside me and one of my legs crossed over the other as I scrolled through a few news articles.

Takami got me this seat, having security escort me there while he went backstage to get dressed.

He said this wouldn't take long since he didn't have to stay for interviews, the reception afterward or even the models that came after him. People filled in around me, though my gaze never left my phone. There were a few people filming, for records and fashion blogs and such.

A group of women sat behind me and listened in on their conversation about Takami.

They talked about how handsome he was and how perfect he seemed.

I smiled to myself.

The air held a buzz of excitement, people ready to see the newest fashions. A woman and her friend, both around my age or so sat beside me in the chair I had my arm draped over.

I went to remove it, not wanting to make her uncomfortable.

"No, no," she interjected, "it's fine! You can keep your arm there!"

"Are you sure? I don't want to make you uncomfortable." I insisted.

"I'm sure, trust me!" I smiled at her and nodded in thanks, turning back to the news article I was reading about Tokoyami.

I listened in as the woman leaned towards her friend to whisper about how attractive I was. I held back a flustered smile, suddenly very interested in the word threw.

Suddenly and without warning, the lights dimmed and a calm voice sounded over the intercom, welcoming everyone to the show.

I took my arm back, slipping my phone into my jacket and slipping the program I was handed when I entered out.

I scanned over it, reading the names of models and fashion designers. I unfolded my legs, draping them out in front of me, right ankle over my left.

I watched as the event started, women, men, and non-gender identifying individuals marched down the stage with confidence and power in dresses and suits and skirts.

These people are living being this beautiful and I have the audacity to even breathe?

Soon though, Takami came out from behind the curtains. I raised my eyebrow and smiled softly at his attire, which fit his aesthetic perfectly.

His pants were made of faux-leather fabric, which seemed slightly too long for his legs, causing them to bunch up at the ankles. A muscle shirt covered his torso, tucked into the pants, but the best part, the statement piece of the outfit, was the long suit jacket he wore over it all.

It hung to his knees, black with white patterns on top, reminding me off those pictures therapists use. Takami's hair was messy as usual, his wings bright against the black and white of his outfit, looking out of place.

Stalking towards the end of the runway, he slipped his right hand into his pocket. He stopped at the end of the long stage, posing and thrusting his wings out, making people gasp.

He smirked as a few feathers flew out of his wings and swirled around him, one coming towards me in particular. It danced in front of my face, tickling my nose softly.

I chuckled, catching the slip of red in between my pointer and middle finger, watching as Takami flinched slightly, almost unnoticeably, at my gesture. He glanced at me and smirked, reaching up to catch a feather just as I had, tracing it down his jaw line and to his chin.