The presentation room was packed.
Every pair in the senior design cohort was required to show concept mockups of their final collection. It was the halfway checkpoint before Paris Fashion Week.
Ayden stood alone behind the podium. The spotlight wasn't new. He'd been here a dozen times. But this time, his palms were sweating.
Across the room, Luca stood by the wall. Not in the seats. Not close.
Just watching.
Waiting to see if Ayden would shrink or stand.
Ayden took a breath. Held it. Spoke.
"Our collection is titled Friction."
Click. First slide: raw sketches of the early, chaotic designs.
"It began as a collision of styles — hard lines and soft chaos. A partnership neither of us wanted. A compromise we both resented."
Murmurs.
Ayden clicked again. Next slide: cleaner, refined versions. Luca's signature colors blended with Ayden's architectural shapes.
"But something happened."
He looked up.
His gaze met Luca's.
The room went quiet.
"I changed. He changed me. Not my process. Me."
Luca's eyes widened — just a little.
Ayden kept going, voice calm, steady, but different. Honest.
"Luca Moretti taught me that precision without passion is empty. He made me see the flaw in perfection. And then… made me fall in love with the mess."
A gasp from somewhere in the back. Camille beaming.
Ayden didn't flinch.
"I was scared. Still am. But I know one thing now: Real design — like real connection — doesn't come from hiding. It comes from feeling. Even when it's terrifying."
When the room erupted into applause, Ayden didn't hear it.
He only heard Luca's voice from the back of the room.
"Damn, you just said you loved me in front of Duval."
Ayden smiled.
And it wasn't guarded.
Outside, Luca caught up to him.
"You really meant it?" he asked.
"Yes."
"You love me?"
"I never said 'love.'"
"You said 'fall in love with the mess.' I'm the mess."
"You are," Ayden said, slipping his fingers into Luca's again. "But you're my mess."
Luca laughed. Lifted his hand. Kissed his knuckles.
"Let's go be chaotic in public."