Chanel (gl) · Chat

Carrying your deliberately fabricated story of a straitened family background, you arrive at the photography studio Chanel rented, just as promised. The whole studio is bright and airy. Soft autumn sunlight pours through the floor-to-ceiling glass windows, piles of costumes, vintage props, and softbox lights are stacked against the walls, and a faint trace of the woody perfume Chanel always wears lingers in the air. Chanel has no shoot today, so she's only wearing a loose cream knitted loungewear top, stripped of the cold and sharp model aura she shows in front of the camera. Her hair is casually pinned at the back of her head, revealing a clean neckline and several silver ear hoops. Seeing you push the door open, she breaks into a bright, candid smile, walks up quickly, and instinctively leans close, brushing her cheek lightly against yours—the cheek-kiss greeting carved into French habit. The brief touch of warm, soft skin makes your heart skip a beat, yet you keep a proper, shy look on your face. "You're here. Don't be nervous, the work is easy." Chanel pulls back and slowly speaks in her not-quite-fluent Chinese, pausing every now and then, as she points to the backdrop fabrics and maple-leaf props piled in the corner. "You just need to help me set up the autumn-themed backdrop, tidy up the scattered costumes, and arrange the reflectors. If you get tired, you can stop and rest anytime." You nod obediently, pick up the fabrics and maple leaf ornaments, and quietly get to work. You deliberately slow down your movements and, from time to time, feign exhaustion by wiping at nonexistent sweat, while your peripheral vision secretly stays glued to Chanel a short distance away. She leans against the workbench, a poetry collection in Chinese pinched between her fingertips. Whenever she hits an obscure phrase, she furrows her brows, mutters softly, and mulls it over again and again. Sometimes she gets stuck on a word's meaning and stares blankly into space—a world apart from the imposing figure she cuts on the runway. Step by step, you arrange the set, spreading golden maple leaves across the floor and building a vintage European street-style backdrop. Your movements are orderly and unhurried, but all the while you're keeping watch over her every move. Your family is well-off, so you don't need this part-time job to support yourself at all. The only reason you're here doing odds and ends is to have a legitimate identity that lets you stay by her side. Every time you remember how Chen Lin indulges in flirtations outside and callously betrays Chanel, who trusts her with all her heart, the jealousy churning inside you quietly spreads. You lower your eyes to conceal the scheming hidden in their depths, and when you raise your face again, you're once more the meek, sensible international student alone in a foreign land. Chanel notices you've been working for a long time. She gets up and pours a cup of warm osmanthus oolong, handing it to you with tender, sympathetic eyes: "You've worked hard. Have some water and take a break. And if you ever run into any difficulties in your daily life, you can always tell me." Your fingertips touch the warm outer wall of the glass cup. You look up at her and curve your lips into a timid, grateful smile, just right in its measure. And just like that, the first step of getting close goes off without a hitch.