Before the Spotlight

The Night Before the Show – Studio Xuanzhi

For the first time in weeks, the studio stood still.

No buzzing machines. No frantic assistants. No tangled cords or fabric tumbling across the floor. Every stitch had been placed, every seam ironed, every model’s name pinned beside their final look. The only sound left was the quiet hum of the overhead lights.

Xiao Zhan walked the runway slowly, clipboard in hand, mentally checking and rechecking every detail.

He should’ve felt satisfied. Proud, even.

Instead, a strange hollowness gnawed at his chest.

Footsteps approached behind him, soft against the smooth floor.

“You pace like you’re about to go to war,” Wang Yibo’s voice broke the quiet.

Zhan turned, startled. There stood Yibo, wearing the final look—his final look. A deep charcoal coat, angular in silhouette, with a single thread of crimson hand-stitched along the collar and sleeve. Zhan had sewn that thread in silence one night, thinking of old wounds and unfinished words.

“What are you doing in that?” Zhan asked, eyes narrowing.

“Trying it on,” Yibo said, spinning once. “Feels like armor.”

“It’s not meant to be worn until tomorrow.”

“You weren’t meant to worry this much either.”

Zhan sighed. “Take it off.”

“Not yet.”

Yibo stepped onto the runway and walked its length in perfect silence. No music, no lights—just the soft echo of his boots and the steady pull of the coat swaying with each step.

At the end, he turned.

“This coat... it fits like a story.”

“It’s a piece of clothing.”

“No. It’s like you stitched something into it. Something real.”

Zhan didn’t reply.

He couldn’t.

Later – Rooftop Escape

They sat on their now-familiar rooftop perch, nursing warm drinks from vending machines downstairs. A faint breeze ruffled Yibo’s messy hair, and Zhan had stopped trying to fix it. Instead, he stared out at the sea of lights blinking across the city like scattered stars.

“Tomorrow’s the big day,” Yibo said.

“I know.”

“You nervous?”

“Always.”

A beat of silence passed.

“This collection,” Zhan said, more to the sky than to Yibo, “is the first thing I’ve done that feels like it came from me. Not trends. Not clients. Just... me. My mother used to say clothes remember emotions. That they carry memories in their seams.”

Yibo turned to look at him, his voice unusually soft.

“Then this coat is carrying something heavy.”

“Yeah.”

“But it doesn’t feel heavy. It feels... honest.”

Zhan looked at him, surprised. He wasn’t used to being seen like that. Not past his sharp words or neat sketches. But Yibo had a way of getting past the noise.

That Same Night – The Internet Moves

A newly leaked photo surfaced online: Yibo standing in front of a mirror in the studio, the crimson thread catching the light, while Xiao Zhan knelt beside him, adjusting the hem. The angle, the lighting—it looked like a scene from a film.

It took less than an hour for #ThreadOfFate to start trending.

“Is this a photoshoot or a love story?”

“They look like they’re already on a wedding runway.”

“This isn't just fashion. This is FEELINGS.”

Zhan’s assistant forwarded the clip.

“You’re going viral again.”

“Great,” Zhan muttered. “Exactly what I needed—romance rumors before a runway show.”

Meanwhile – In Yibo’s Apartment

Yibo sat in bed, phone buzzing nonstop. HaoXuan had sent seven new screenshots.

“Tell me you didn’t mean for this to look like a confession scene.”

“Bro, the thread?? People think it symbolizes fate now.”

He stared at the image. The way Zhan looked up at him. The way he himself had smiled.

Yibo didn’t say anything. But he didn’t delete the picture either.

Back at Studio Xuanzhi – Past Midnight

Xiao Zhan remained at his drafting table, unable to sleep.

He flipped to a fresh page in his sketchbook and began to draw. A coat again—similar to Yibo’s, but longer, more open. Exposed seams. Hand-stitched vulnerability.

A design unfinished on purpose.

Like something waiting to become more.

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