Found time to edit and update this one tonight too, so go me! Still in Mexico where I'm currently dying of heat but also so happy not to be burried under twenty feet of snow back in Canada for another week. Anyway, this one was fun to do. Another from the 24 Fics in 24 Days Challenge, too.

Isabelle Lightwood owned the runway. Okay, not just in the literal term either, being that her parents really did own the runway she was currently working, but, like, she was the freaking queen of the modelling world. She was like that final boss you always had to face at the end of every game; the one you could never beat no matter how hard you tried until you found that one in a million special item and then they ended up just ditching the scene because they were too cool for it anyway rather than actually being defeated and—

Yeah, okay, let's start again. Isabelle Lightwood, the rising young model Simon had been booked to shoot for that week, was by far the most talented he'd ever seen. And believe me, he'd seen plenty, having been in the industry for nearly six years now and never going a day without having some shoot or another. In short; she was a goddess sent from on high to torture him with the view of such tantalizing fruit, only to be brought up short by the knowledge that he, being of too low a class to ever afford such splendor, could never take a bite of.

Of course, that didn't stop Simon from admiring the view. Especially when he had such a good front row seat through the admittedly huge lens of his camera. Dear God, she looked even more attractive when posing like the pro she so totally was.

"Turn to your right a bit for me," he called out, watching through his screen as she did just that, letting the light reflect perfectly off her sharp cheekbones to accentuate the scarily fierce look in her eyes. It almost made Simon quake with fear and tremble away with his tail between his skinny little legs but, alas, he was not such a lowly man. Just a really nerdy one.

"That's good, I think it's a wrap. Thank you, Isabelle. You were brilliant." He managed to deliver his usual practiced spiel with as much ease as possible when facing someone as ethereal as Isabelle freaking Lightwood, and tuck his camera safely back into it's case with little to no trouble, despite his shaking and totally-not-clammy-at-all hands.

And then promptly lost his shit all over the place when he turned to find her right in front of him. Okay, that's cool. He could recover from this. Jumping ten feet into the air at the sight of her and nearly crapping his pants was totally manly. He could work with this. He had this. He so had this.

"Um, hey, uh, Isabelle." Okay, so maybe not. That's fine, surely she got reactions like this all the time, being as successful and godly as she was. Except probably not from photographers who were just as successful as her. Damn it, he was supposed to be a professional for christ's sake. Why was a stupid little crush having such an embarrassing effect on him?

The goddess in front of him raised a perfect eyebrow, her gorgeous face portraying a look of utter disapproval towards every life choice he'd ever made during his short and pitiful existence on this earth. She shook her head in a tangle of flawless raven curls before addressing him in an unfairly beautiful tone. "I just wanted to ask you to send me the shots too, not just the editor. Okay? Great. See you, Sheldon." With that she spun on her pristine heels and strided attractively away from him, into the glowing sunset beyond the double doors of the studio, never to be seen again until his next shoot with her, tomorrow morning.

Alas, the world was truly a cruel and unjust place, hell bent on making life the worst possible experience for those of lesser fortune. But wait! What was that she'd said about sharing shots with her? Ah yes, 'twas so! Luck was surely on his side this wondrous evening, for he requireth her number to do as she desired.

"Wait!" he called out after her, stumbling over his feet and nearly crashing face-first into a stray light module lying horizontally on the floor, waiting to be packed away with the rest of the equipment and moved to tomorrow's location. Isabelle spun back around, pinning him with an unimpressed look as she tapped her high heel impatiently on the hardwood floor of the studio, raising an eyebrow at him again. Taking a large gulp of air, Simon threw the question out there with a totally cool amount of smoothness. "Can I have your number?" he fumbled, the words coming out much faster and more jumbled than intended. Still, if the growing smirk on the young model's face was anything to go by, Isabelle had heard him quite clearly regardless.

Grinning widely now with a dark glint forming behind flawless brown eyes, she leaned forward to press a rectangular business card into his unmoving hand. "I thought you'd never ask," she whispered right into his burning red ear, watching in amusement as his eyes went wide and brain short-circuited about a thousand times before managing to mumble out the lamest, most idiotic thing that had ever been said in the history of mankind.

"My name's Simon, what's yours?" After this, he was going to curl up in a ball on his bed, wrap himself in a thousand blankets, and die a slow and miserable death of oxygen deprivation in the comfort of his own home where he never had to face another human being ever again. Fuck, he was bad at this.

Isabelle blinked at him for a long moment before bursting into laughter so hard she ended up crouching on the ground in front of him, clutching at her stomach. "Oh my God," she exclaimed, giggling through the words. "You're adorable."

If Simon could blush any harder than he already was, he would have turned as red as a fire engine at that comment. As it was, all he could do was splutter and flail his arms wildly in an attempt to convey some kind of message. What that message was, Simon had absolutely no idea. That probably had something to do with the fact that his brain was no longer functioning in the slightest.

"Seriously," the goddess amended after another minute, finally having calmed down enough to speak as elegantly as always. "Call me." And then, once again, she turned on her perfect heels and strode confidently away, all the while still giggling to herself over the cute boy with a crush on her who'd been taking her pictures for the past week and who happened to be the most adorable little mouse she'd ever stumbled across.

And somehow Simon went home with the most gorgeous model in the universe's phone number in his pocket, a feeling of mortal embarrassment he'd never get rid of, and a maybe-date in the near future with the aforementioned queen of perfection. Maybe luck really was on his side, after all.

I'm in a weirdly good mood tonight so I might even get another one edited and uploaded before I go to sleep. Anyway, let me know what you thought?