The Dress Affair.

• Gedy Cate Tuguinay, Grade 9, Bede Polding College -
• Short Story
• 2022

Excellence Award in the 'Summertime Fun ONLINE' competition

He awaits by the passenger door, parked on the road in front of an apartment block, impeccably dressed with one of his higher end tailcoats. He readies himself, smoothening his black tie, and every other moment he would check his watch. The barest sunlight reflects on the glass, as he leans back.

And yet, Illya Kuriyakin sweeps into view and he is left breathless; his short stature does not hide his lioness nature, vermillion silks cling onto accentuated curves, the small cinched waist - Illya stiffens as he slightly wobbles on each step. He is not quite used to ladies high heels.

They were trained in many arts - combat was not the only way to survive, trickery and deception were other traits essential to survival - and to excel at them. And whilst he leaned into the gentleman facade; drizzling with chivalry and honey-sweet flirtations to swoon the masses, his partner was a golden apple of the eye - yet sickeningly poisonous to those who tempt to bite.

His partner’s glare dissuades the siren spell that Illya had unwittingly placed upon him. The charming mysterious blonde, femme fatale role was one his partner rarely plays, yet it is all the more effective.

He, himself, falls for it too.

“Get over it, Napoleon. Why is it always you that gets us late to our affairs?” The shorter man hisses, holding up the draping garments and completely ready to push him aside to drive instead.

He chuckles to himself, and sighs. There was no use completely hiding Illya’s nature, but their cover could not be suspected yet.

Napoleon leads him to his seat, tucking the long ends of the dress before they are caught by the door. Illya’s eyes narrow at him through the window, and he lifts his chin hauntingly.

By the time he is in the driver’s seat, Illya seems to be fully in character - daintily crossing his legs and subtly placing his gun away in less conspicuous places.

“Ready to infiltrate another gala?” He says, starting the car. Illya refrains from kicking him, finding it in himself to control the violent urge to harm that grinning look.

“You enjoy this too much.” Illya replies, looking away to watch the slow moving streets, hiding the small smile he has himself.