Page 63 of Damian & Jun, Episodes 9-12
Summer sun. He stared at the words. There were images there, he knew. Some distant part of him understood the concept came with flowers. And color. Summers were full of color. Red roses floated in spilled russet wine. A golden goblet rolled on a mosaic floor. Sunflowers and roofs burned under a cloudless sky, an invading horde with fluttering flags marching onward in the distance, the unrelenting light making their spears gleam.
August was a summer month. Augustus Caesar. Julius for July. Rulers of Rome, military leaders. His mother had told him that Westerners named their warring months after great kings, unlike the practical numerical systems of the East.
The months of summer enshrined conquerors. Who said summer was the time of new love? Winter was for lovers. Blankets of snow to smother the world until one could hear their souls and empty time deep enough to decide bonds to last a life time. Enforced stillness drew bodies together for warmth and rest.
He dragged his pen across the left side of the page: Summer Fire, August War. Julius Caesar.
What was he doing? He stared at the words spread across the paper. This was a mess.
Was there nothing left in his soul but black and red?
Why was he now in love with the darkness? Why did it feel like home, like truth?
Was he broken, irreparably lost? What if no one wanted to hear his nightmares? What if the screaming crowds rejected him? If he couldn’t be their handsome fantasy with a smile, would they still want him? He’d fallen in love, and all that was gushing out of him was blood and rage. Two sides of the color red.
Large feet moving quietly broke his internal soliloquy. He raised his head, hand still plastered over his cheek, half covering his eye. Émeric stood at the end of the couch. His eyes traveled over Jun’s papers. “Rough composing?”
Jun groaned.
“Auntie’s has a limited private service this morning. I thought I would take a bit of a walk, enjoy some proper Turkish coffee.”
“What’s Turkish coffee?”
“Dark, strong, served with tiny sugar cubes and equally small cookies. The black side of heaven.”
Jun smiled despite himself. “I’d love to, but I’m not sure I can keep up appearances right now. Not exactly feeling like a dashing idol.”
“Then don’t go as yourself.”
Jun raised an eyebrow. Émeric smirked. “Damian isn’t the only one who knows something about clothes. Most of what he knows he learned from me. Or Ellisandre. One moment.”
Émeric came back a few moments later with a garment bag and a boot box. He set them on the opposite couch and opened them. “This should be your size.”
There was so much fabric. Jun stood and approached the pile that had exploded from the bag as soon as Émeric unzipped it. “Is that Harajuku fashion?”
Émeric chuckled and shrugged. “I’m not sure. I think it’s similar to what can be Lolita.”
Jun touched the top layer. Blue crushed velvet. Rich and soft too. So many layers underneath. Petticoats in white. The top of the dress had a large collar worked into the design, and the sleeves were long and full, coming together at the wrists in cuffs with brass buttons.
“You really want to see me in more dresses, don’t you? Why do you even have this?”
Émeric smirked. “I like to be prepared. There’s a wig, a hat, and I have makeup. I doubt even an AI scan will be able to tell who you are when we finish.”
Just like before, the draw of going out and not being himself was strong. The fact that the disguise was feminine hardly mattered. Clothes were clothes.
He took the outfit to the bathroom in the hall and showered in three minutes before putting on the dress. It came with thick black stockings. After everything Mi Hi had taught him, he knew how to put those on. The petticoats were just like the skirts he had worn before, just more of them. The dress was straightforward, but the zipper in the back was more difficult. He looked at himself in the mirror. He already barely looked like himself. Back in the lounge, Émeric had the makeup, wig, and outer winter wear garments laid out, including a massive blue dress coat.
“You know how to do makeup?” Jun sat down beside Émeric. He had to tuck his skirt in around his legs.
Émeric smiled that quiet, dangerous smile of his. “I have a few talents.” He opened a brand-new bottle of serum. “First, skin prep.”
Jun raised an eyebrow. That was a Korean makeup brand, one that he used.
Émeric was quick and sure with the brushes and powders. Jun suppressed shivers when Émeric held his chin, drew the lines around his lips, and applied lipstick. Only when he was finished did Émeric pass him a mirror.
Jun looked at himself. He looked like a girl. Young, even. The makeup was as good as what he’d had done a few times for film without the over exaggeration needed for the bright lights. His lips were cherry-blossom pink, his eyes framed to look larger with lashes and liner. The contour on his nose, cheeks, jaw, and forehead gave the illusion of a more feminine and delicate bone structure.
“You’ve done this before.”
