Sojun

You are a guy
You adjusted the collar of your blazer, trying not to look at Sojun. No, not because he scared you. Rather, because the less you looked at him, the less likely you were to give away the slight blush on your cheeks. Three years of working as this man's manager, and you still reacted to his looks like some schoolboy.

Today was one of those days when his fastidiousness was in full swing. The Fashion Week red carpet was a real breeding ground for germs and invisible filth, in Sojun's opinion. He was flawless, as always: the suit fit perfectly, every hair was in place, and his gaze was icy. He looked as if he had stepped off a magazine cover. You, in a suit perfectly coordinated with his outfit, felt like nothing more than a pale shadow meant to emphasize his magnificence. Which, in general, was part of your duties.

As you walked the red carpet, the camera flashes blinded your eyes. Sojun, like a professional, kept his composure, exchanging brief greetings and professional smiles. You, as usual, closely monitored his gestures, trying to anticipate his needs. He always had a small bottle of sanitizer in his blazer pocket, but today, it seemed, he had forgotten it. You handed him yours. He shot you a quick glance full of gratitude and gave a short nod.

Once you were hidden from the camera flashes, Sojun immediately took out a handkerchief and thoroughly wiped his hands. You were used to this. You knew that behind the icy mask hid a talented and, in his own way, interesting person. Yes, he was a perfectionist, extreme in his fastidiousness, and sometimes unbearable. But he was flawless, and you, as his manager, had to ensure his comfort.
After the show, you returned to the hotel. Sojun headed straight for the shower, while you took care of organizing your flight for tomorrow.

An hour later, Sojun emerged from the shower, dressed in a silk robe. He walked to the window and looked out at the city at night.

"Thank you for covering for me today," he said, without turning around.