Sugar On My Tongue

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There was nothing better than returning home.

And of course, there was nothing better than returning home feeling like the king of the world.

You stepped off the plane around 9:30 in the morning, under a gray sky dotted with clouds through which the light of the opaque sun filtered. It was cold, as expected at that time of year when spring was just approaching; around 8 degrees. Nothing you weren’t used to, and nothing that the trench coat you were wearing wouldn’t cover.

The driver Prada had assigned you was scheduled to arrive at 10, so you had to wait inside the airport, waiting for people who approached you to ask for photos or simply to say hello. It was something you’d already resigned yourself to, something you’d been forced to accept would happen more and more frequently, but it was the first time you truly realized the magnitude of what you were starting to deal with, with a new person approaching you practically every minute.

When it was time to leave, you felt a surge of relief, not because people bothered you, but because of the anxiety you’d felt experiencing such a situation for the first time. You knew it wouldn’t happen again, but it still wasn’t pleasant. A small hint of imposter syndrome, perhaps? It was possible. After all, you were still struggling to process everything you’d accomplished and the way you’d done it. Either way, you were starting to realize that your life would never be the same again. Not for a while.

As you left the airport, you identified the car they’d sent you by its license plate. A black Audi with tinted windows. You didn’t know the exact model, but it was probably an A7 or an A8. The driver got out to help you with your bags, and then you climbed into the back seat.

After a brief confirmation of credentials, he headed for the Palazzo Parigi, the same hotel where a year ago you and Hanni had… well, you didn’t want to think too much about it. Still, as you were driven through the streets of your beloved Milan, you couldn’t help but think about that girl and everything you’d promised you’d show her someday. Promises that had been in vain. Maybe she’d already forgotten them.

You missed her. The void she’d left in you had already been more than filled, but that wasn’t what you missed about her; it was more like… hell, you didn’t even know, what the fuck did you miss about her? What were you thinking?

You forced her out of your thoughts, putting on your headphones and blasting some Meshuggah to clear your head. Ten minutes later, you arrived at the hotel, that beautiful marble palace where you’d be staying for the three days covered by Prada’s invitation.

In the lobby, Natalia, the woman who would be your assistant/manager for the three days, was already waiting for you. She handed you a black leather folder containing your VIP accreditation, itineraries, access information, and an invitation to the after-party. You spent a moment together in the hotel cafeteria to review everything, and after a couple of espressos and a light breakfast, you signed everything she had you read, free to go to your room.

Prada had initially offered to give you a room, but after a series of conversations and negotiations, you were given the hotel’s terrace suite. The advantages of being Italian and also being your own boss, basically. You didn’t have to rely on someone to negotiate for you and worry about incurring too many expenses.

The suite welcomed you with a cold draft coming from two open glass doors: one on the left, next to the double bed, and another on the right, next to the small sofa on the other side of the room. In between them, a wall with a dresser and a television on top. You left your backpack and briefcase on the bed, and left your suitcases lying on the floor around it.

In front of the dresser with the television there was a glass table with two chairs on either side. On it, a white lamp, an open encyclopedia of Italian history, and a small circular glass tray with a big box of chocolates decorated with a daisy and a Prada card dedicated to you.

After taking a couple of photos of the Prada gift and uploading a few stories to Instagram, you took off your trench coat, rolled up your sweater to your forearms, and slightly loosened the tie you wore at the neck of your white shirt underneath. Then you went to the terrace and let the cold bite your skin while you admired the cloudy Milan skyline.

Leaning against the railing, you took your cigarette case out of your back pocket and lit one, finally allowing yourself to check your private messages. First, you checked Wony’s chat, then Rina’s.

You also had messages from more of your friends. Sohyun had left you the morning photo of your cats, as well as a short voice note update about her situation with Xinyu. Sullyoon and Isa had also checked in on you, as they always did. Aside from them, there were unanswered messages from Jiheon, Yujin, Haewon, Sunwoo, Hayoung, and Mingi.

By the time you answered all the messages, you’d already finished your cigarette, which you put out and left in the ashtray on the small circular table on the terrace before going inside, grabbing your Bluetooth speaker, and going to the bathroom to take a long shower.

About half an hour later, after getting out of the shower and putting on comfortable clothes, you went straight to bed and slept for about four hours. When you woke up, the first thing you did was order lunch, eat it, and then call Wony, with whom you talked for a couple of hours before she went to sleep.

Natalia paid you a brief visit just a few minutes later to review your itinerary for tomorrow. She emphasized how important punctuality was for the brand and recommended that you not make plans until late in the afternoon so you’d be rested and sober. This somewhat put a damper on your plans to go out for drinks, but since you didn’t want to cause anyone any trouble, you were understanding and gave her your word.

When Natalia left around 9 pm, you went live on Instagram and spent another hour talking to your followers about everything you had planned for the weeks you’d be there in Milan. By the end it was already 10 am, so you hurried to order something, get dinner, and go straight to bed.

The next morning Natalia was in charge of waking you up promptly at 7:00 a.m., making you shower as quickly as possible so you could go have breakfast with her, talk to some journalists, and head to Prada’s headquarters at 8:30 a.m. to attend the fitting for tomorrow’s show.

By 9:00 a.m. you were already on Via Fogazzaro, in the historic former industrial space where the brand’s headquarters were located. You and Natalia quickly made your way to the central part, a large, multi-story building made of polished stone and filled with glass windows. Inside, staff members were already waiting to guide you.

Your gaze darted from side to side as you walked through the hallways toward your corresponding salon, sharing brief greetings with various models and also checking out those already in their salons. There were also people you didn’t know, of course, of various ethnicities and nationalities, but everyone was kind and friendly enough to give you at least a smile.

The journey was also the site of one of the most surreal moments of your life, as the Hunter Schafer herself not only recognized you—thankfully not because of your streaming work, she said she saw you in an ad—but also started following you on Instagram and let you know she’d be doing the fitting in the same salon as you. So she was your pleasant companion throughout the entire time.

Once in the fitting room, a team of stylists surrounded you and began taking your measurements to determine your exact size and make sure everything looked perfect. They knew your style and that you were more inclined toward loose, baggy clothing, so they showed you a tablet with different outfit suggestions for you. You ended up suggesting a combination of two: a wide-legged, high-necked black cotton coat that made you feel like Shino Aburame, silk pants that reached your calf, and Brixxen ankle boots. Additionally, since it was a winter collection, you chose some black wool gloves.

With tomorrow’s show outfit ready, all that was left was to choose something for the after-party, but you didn’t change much: instead of a coat, you opted for a closed black corduroy down jacket. Otherwise, the outfit was exactly the same.

Now it was time for the damn photoshoot for social media, magazines, and the Prada website. You were stuck there for at least an hour and a half, but everything ran smoothly, and you all loved the results. After that, you had nothing else to do for the moment, so while Natalia discussed some things with the staff, you explored, still wearing your show outfit.

The reason? You wanted to see if you could find her.

Rina hadn’t let you know anything, but you were sure she had to be there, somewhere. You searched every corner you could for it, straining your ears to hear any Korean. At one point you did, but it was only Byeon Wooseok and his team, which extended your search for a few more minutes.

You weren’t successful on the second floor either, and the third floor was closed to the public. You had to go back downstairs, disappointed and beginning to accept that she simply hadn’t arrived yet and that you’d have to leave before she did.

But when you walked past one of the open lounges before yours, you saw out of the corner of your eye a small, pale, long-haired figure. You turned so fast you almost broke your neck. At the far end of the spacious room, she stood there, her hair extensions and pretty dress being fitted by her team.

You walked in and stood against the wall, just watching so as not to interfere with their work. However, you avoided staring so as not to look weird, occasionally checking your phone or chatting with other models or stylists. Natalia was probably looking for you, but you’d make her wait a little longer.

A few minutes passed when Rina was finally ready, and you looked up to stare at her. She must have felt your gaze, because as she walked toward a hairdresser, she looked around until she met your eyes. You smiled, and she smiled back. But the clumsy girl tripped over a dryer cord and almost fell to the floor.

“Mother of God,” you muttered to yourself, trying not to laugh. You walked slowly toward her.

“Ah… you didn’t see anything,” Rina laughed nervously as you approached. “You didn’t see anything, did you?”

“Nothing at all,” you shook your head, standing in front of her.

Rina remained silent as she looked up at you with a cute twinkle in her eyes, playing with her hands on her stomach. She bit her lower lip a little.

“Can I… hug you?” She asked, self-conscious about being surrounded by so many people.

You just opened your arms, and Rina slipped between them to snuggle up to you, hugging your neck. It wasn’t the kind of hug you were expecting right there, but you didn’t complain. Instead, you wrapped your arms around her and pulled her against you, earning a few annoyed glances from her manager.

“Did I make you nervous or something?” you asked in her ear, absorbing some of the sweet scent of her hair.

“Hey! I thought you didn’t see anything,” Rina whined, poking you in the chest.

“Sorry,” you laughed. “I didn’t mean to almost make you fall, jagiya.”

Rina pulled away from you and looked back into your eyes, her lips curved into a muted smile.

“Please don’t call me that here. It makes me want to kiss you,” she said. “ Jagiya.”

You dug your hands into your pants pockets and looked down, smiling and feeling a warmth rise in your cheeks. That girl always managed to get under your skin.

“You just arrived?” you asked, changing the subject. “I looked for you for like twenty minutes.”

“Oh yeah,” Rina nodded. “We were a little late due to logistical issues with the agency. And you? How long have you been standing there?”