Soft Revolution
by anobscureflaw
Summary: Riku's a top model, and Sora's just a substitute hairstylist temporarily filling in. It was only a small plane delay, but caused much more than expected. Funny how fate works. (Riku/Sora)

- - -
Blind Item
by Selphie Tilmitt

This notorious model - who just signed on as the new face for Heartless Clothing Company - was spotted at L.A.'s hottest club with yet another new beau. No word yet on who this mystery girl is, but an onlooker said the girl was "stunningly beautiful" and that the two seemed "fairly cozy." A close friend agreed, saying "they're very into each other at the moment." The question is: will this girl last, or will she be just another notch on the bedpost for the top model?

I sighed and tossed the magazine on the floor. What garbage, honestly. Not only was the girl they mentioned actually a guy, but I'm also sure the "close friend" was someone I had never met in my life.

I smirked to myself as I re-read the last sentence. The answer was definitely the latter.

"What are you smirking at, Riku?" Leon asked from his chair next to me. Someone was blow-drying his hair, another putting some double-sided tape on his clothes to hold them in place. Despite what people think, clothes don't fit that perfectly, even on models.

I frowned, ignoring the question. Where the hell was my hairdresser? The show is going to start soon, and I'm opening!

Nevertheless, I bent over and picked the tabloid off of the ground and tossed it to Leon. My smirk grew as he scanned the article, and pretty soon a smirk found its way on his face as well.

"I remember that 'girl.' He was quite attractive... what was his name?"

I shrugged. Didn't know, didn't care. He was hot and that was all that mattered.

Leon laughed at my nonchalantness.

"You'll never change, Riku." I sent him a devilish grin, which he returned.

"Hey, aren't you opening?" he asked, changing the subject. "Where's your crew?" His face distorted into a slight frown.

"I don't know. Somebody better get here soon, though, or I won't be happy..." I trailed off as I noticed that Leon was no longer paying attention, instead focusing on the make-up artist in front of him. I watched as the artist told him to turn his head sideways, growing frustrated as she tried to cover Leon's scar. I'm always amused when the make-up people get to this part. It's such a wasted effort; the damn thing will never give in.

I always did like Leon's scar, though he's never told me how he got it. I figure he never will- we've known each other for about a year now and he still won't even give me a hint.

Leon's my best friend. We started out in the business together, and luckily we've both made it this far. I get a few more jobs than him, but he doesn't seem to care. As long as it isn't mentioned, we're both fine.

Surprisingly, we've never hooked up. You'd think we would have, seeing as we're both good looking, not to mention gay - but he has a boyfriend who he's very loyal to. Not that I haven't ever tried anything.

Growing bored of Leon (he's hot, but not that hot), I looked around the backstage area. As usual, it's hectic. Clothing racks everywhere, people running about. I listened as a stage manager cried into her microphone, "We're missing the leather jacket! What? No, it's not on Rack 3, I checked. No, that was Jason's job! Fuck!"

This is what I live for. Technically, it's what I live on, seeing as it's how I make my money, but I live for it too. The lights, the actuoin, the cameras. Well, I could do without the cameras. Specifically the paparazzi, let me tell you. It is not fun hiding in a bathroom for 3 hours until it's safe to go outside.

But I digress, because I was getting a bit antsy. Where the hell was my crew?

Tapping my foot impatiently, I picked up a magazine and began reading about Fashion Week in Milan. It's coming up soon, isn't it? I quickly scanned the article for the date when-

"Sorry I'm late."

A bag dropped by my feet, and immediately a blow-dryer is pulled out, along with a brush and scissors.

I looked up, expecting to tell Marluxia off for being late, but- "Who are you?" I asked instead.

He was cute, but then again so was every other guy here. All I wanted was my normal hairdresser. And this spiky-haired stranger was definitely not my normal hairdresser.

He either didn't hear me or just ignored me, instead bending down to retrieve yet another item from his bag.

"Where the hell is Marluxia?" I snarled.

He straighed, shrugged, and picked up a comb. While he was running it through my hair, he spoke.

"Your manager called last minute, said it was an emergency. Now I'm here, and that's about all I know."

My manager? Pulling away from him so he couldn't reach my hair, I reached in my pocket and pulled out my cell phone, then pressed speed dial 1.

Ringgg. Ringgg. Ri-

"Hello?"

"Larxene, where the fuck is Marluxia?"

"His plane got stuck in Paris. Is the back-up there yet?"

I looked back towards the stranger. "If you could call it that." He was waiting for me to get off of the phone so that he could start on my hair. I took a good look at him, and noticed he was young. And shouldn't hairdressers have good hair? His was... well, less than good.

"...You sent me a kid, Larx."

I heard a slight snort from next to me.

"Well, he's good. Trust me. ... Oh, hello!" Her voice raised an octave at the last part. I rolled my eyes, knowing what was coming next. "Good to see you! Mwah, mwah! Yes, let's do lunch sometime!" She groaned a little. "...I have no idea who the fuck that was." She muttered, her voice returning to it's normal level.

"Listen," she said. "I'm in the audience now- 2nd row. All these bastards keep talking to me and I have to pretend like I know them. Anyways... where were we? Oh, right. He's young, Riku, but I wouldn't send you an underqualified kid. He's new, but he's good."

I refused to believe it. "Whatever."

"Aw, now, you're sounding like Leon. Don't worry about it. I'll see you soon. Be fabulous, don't trip!"

Click.

I turned in my swiveling chair to face the guy, but when I opened my mouth to speak he got there first.

"Doubting my brilliance?" he asked with a smirk that could rival my own.

I made a show of looking up at his hair, then slowly back at his face. "I have reason to."

He winced and clutched a hand to his heart. "Ouch." Instantly, he recovered. "You know you think it's cute. Anyways, you should never judge a hairstylist by their hair."

I cocked an eyebrow. "Why is that?"

"Because most of them don't cut their own hair, dumbass."

Without waiting for my response, he swiveled my chair back around so that I was facing the mirror.

"There's no time to shampoo, so I'm just going to cut it dry." he said with his arms on the back of my chair, sizing up my hair.

"Cut?" I tensed up. "I thought you were just going to style, not cut."

"Relax. I'm just going to shape it up a bit."

He began snipping at the ends, and I relaxed completely, losing myself. Girly as it was, I loved getting my hair done. And the kid, whatever his name was, the kid's hands felt fabulous in my hair.

It was silent for a while before he spoke. "Who was your last stylist? He did a terrible job, the split ends are having a party on your head."

I opened my mouth to get defensive, but then I realized that it was Marluxia's fault, not mine. "This guy named Marluxia."

He snorted and made a face as if there were a bad smell under his nose.

"You know him?" I asked, even though I could already tell the answer.

Sure do." he asked as he snipped away at my hair. "Pink hair, likes flowers, crazy fucker." I smiled; that about summed Marluxia up.

"I take it you don't like him very much."

"Not a bit."

I didn't say anything. Marluxia wasn't too bad once you got to know him. Along with Leon, he'd been there with me since the beginning.

"How do you know him?" I asked, surprised that I was willingly making conversation.

"We went to school together." His eyebrows were knitted in concentration as he examined his work closely.

I tried not to smirk, watching him through the mirror. "Beauty school?"

He looked unfazed at the small insult, like he hadn't noticed it at all. He didn't even look up as he answered. "Something like that, yeah."

More silence as he rubbed some kind of product onto his hands. Normally, I'd sit back and enjoy it, but I was curious about this kid. His tongue poked out as he ran the liquid through my hair, oblivious to the world around him.

"... How old are you, anyways?" I asked, curiosity getting the best of me.

"Eighteen."

I tried to hide my shock, but he must have noticed it anyways if the slightly hurt look on his face was any indication.

"I know, I look like I'm twelve. How old are you?"

"Nineteen."

He nodded and went back to my hair. Sensing that there wouldn't be much more conversation, I started thinking about what type of haircutter he was. Almost immediately I classified him as a type B.

Type A's were people like Marluxia, who keep talking while cutting your hair. They chat until you want to hit them over the head and tell them to just shut the fuck up. Even worse is when they don't get all the little hints that you just want to sleep.

But no, this kid was easily a type B. They only talk when spoken to, and concentrate solely on the hair.

There are ups and downs to both types. It really just depends on what mood you're in at the time.

Deep in my thoughts, I didn't even notice he was finished until he took off the cover around my shoulders and began to brush the stray hairs off of me. I was scared to look into the mirror, so I instead looked at the floor.

My eyes widened. "Thats a lot of hair."

What did he do, scalp me?

Hesitantly I raised my eyes to the mirror and... relaxed. It was the same length as before, but how...?

"I layered it, which is why there's so much much hair gone. I kept the length, just shaped it up a bit." He answered my unasked question.

"It looks good." I gave in and complimented.

"I know."

"Riku, you're on in ten!"

I was suddenly bombareded by make-up artists and people dressing me. Why did they always wait until the last minute for these things, anyways?

Next thing I knew, I was being shoved towards the front of the line, Leon behind me.

"You look different." he asked after looking me up and down.

"Marluxia didn't do my hair."

"Who did?"

I realized that I never got his name, and looked around the corner to see if I could spot him. His bag was gone, though, so I could only assume he was gone too. Shame... I wouldn't have minded him doing my hair again.

"I don't know his name." I finally answered. "Some kid."

Leon looked around for an unfamiliar face. "Where is he?"

I frowned slightly. Usually people stick around for the show and the afterparty, but I didn't see him anywhere nearby.

... Why was this bothering me? I shook it off, hearing the announcer begin the show. It was time.

Most people would be shaking with nerves, but not me. Sure, this was my first time opening a show, but I knew I looked good. And I had done this many times before.

"Riku, you're on!"

Flashing, blinding lights.

Right food, left foot.

Pose, turn, walk some more.

Enter back stage, change outfit.

Do it all again.

Always the same. And I never got sick of it.
- - -

What's next: A name for the stranger (Hint: it starts with an S... XD) and a flight to Milan!

On another note, I'd really like reviews. Not just for the sake of reviews, but rather encouragement or constructive criticism! I'm hoping to improve. This is also my first time with first person POV, so if there are tense problems, please point them out so I won't make the same mistakes again :D

Thank you!