I woke up with the elegance of a gremlin emerging from hibernation.
Three missed calls from CJ glared at me from the phone screen, judging me with the subtlety of a courtroom gavel. My mascara had partially migrated to my temples overnight, and my mouth tasted like regret and stale champagne. Wonderful.
Groaning, I blinked against the light bleeding in through the blinds and flopped an arm out toward my phone. I fumbled for the call button like it was a lifeline and let it ring.
"CJ?" I rasped when he picked up.
There was a pause on the other end, the kind that says "I'm deciding whether to scold or support you."
"Hey," he replied flatly. The emotional equivalent of a blank wall.
"I know, I know. I was a mess last night," I admitted, voice low. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have dragged you to that event just to ditch you and wander off."
Another pause. Then a sigh that was so deep it might have traveled from his toes. "It's fine-"
"No, it's not. You showed up for me and I just... ghosted you like a horrible friend."
"You disappeared with Tony Stark, Y/N. I thought you were either being recruited for space war... or making out on a balcony."
"Wow. I'm not sure which is more terrifying."
He didn't laugh, just another sigh. "I wasn't mad, okay? I was worried. That's different."
"I know. I wasn't thinking. One second we were sipping wine on the balcony, the next I was knee-deep in Stark sarcasm and losing track of time."
CJ exhaled again. "Alright. I'm grabbing coffee and coming over. Do not move. Do not disappear. Don't even sneeze without texting me first."
I smiled softly, relieved. "Thanks, CJ. Seriously. You're the best."
"You say that now, but wait until I bring you decaf by mistake."
"Monster."
He chuckled and hung up.
An hour later, CJ was unlocking my door with the spare key I gave him, coffee in hand and judgment in his eyes.
He stepped inside and froze halfway to the living room. "...Okay, what in Fashion Week exploded in here?"
My studio was a canvas of chaos. Mannequins lined the walls in silent formation, each one wrapped in bold fabrics, layered textures, metallic trims, and strategic seams. A holographic design board glowed near the corner, projecting animated mockups of the suits in motion. Sketches were everywhere, walls, floors, even taped to the fridge.
CJ looked around in awe. "This is what happens when you panic-design, huh?"
"No, this is what happens when inspiration slaps me across the face at 3 AM and refuses to let me sleep."
He handed me my coffee and took a croissant for himself. "Alright. Show me what you've got."
"Gladly," I said, hopping up from the stool and moving toward the first mannequin.
"This is Steve's," I said, adjusting the shoulder seam. "Classic silhouette, reinforced stitching. I kept the color palette traditional, navy, white, some stars, but added subtle tech threads in the fabric so it enhances movement."
"Very Captain-America-meets-Gucci," CJ said with a nod. "Love it."
"He deserves it. He's literally America's ass."
We both cracked up.
Next was Clint's. "More casual. Flexible fit, breathable material. Pockets for days."
CJ leaned in. "Is that... corduroy?"
"Textured stealth," I corrected. "So he can disappear and be on trend."
As we moved through the line of suits, he offered feedback without pulling punches. We debated fabric choices, stitched adjustments together, and argued for fifteen full minutes about the collar height on Bruce's jacket. At one point, I had a needle in my teeth and a measuring tape around my neck, while arguing.
"Oh my god," CJ muttered, inspecting Tony's suit. "You are so into him."
I tried to act casual. "I design for his body type, not his attitude."
CJ looked over his glasses. "You literally added a hidden pocket for his ego."
"It's practical!"
We both laughed, and then, because neither of us could help it, we got absorbed in the work.
He helped me pin fabric on Natasha's bodice while I marked adjustments on Thor's overcoat. We stitched and steamed, cut and re-stitched. There was music playing faintly in the background, some lo-fi beat I had on a never-ending playlist, but the rhythm of our work filled the room more than anything.
"Do you remember that first project we ever did together?" CJ asked while ironing a lining panel.
"The haunted masquerade piece?" I said without looking up. "The one that caught fire during the showcase?"
"Exactly." He grinned. "And you still won 'Best Creative Direction.'"
I smirked. "Hey, fire is a direction."
We moved on to my own suit last. CJ stood back with crossed arms as I adjusted the mannequin. Black with silver threading, it shimmered subtly under the studio lights. It had a sculpted structure, bold shoulders, but a graceful cut that allowed for free movement.
"This one's different," CJ said after a pause.
"It's the one I spent the most time on," I admitted. "Not just because I'm wearing it. It's... something else. Feels like I'm designing for who I want to be."
He gave me a small smile. "It looks like power. Like you're stepping into your own name."
I didn't say anything for a moment. Then I turned back and started re-threading the machine.
"We make a good team, don't we?" I asked.
"The best," he said without hesitation.
Hours passed like minutes. We worked through lunch, surviving on croissants and caffeine. We fussed over the hem on Pepper's jacket, laughed over the subtle asymmetry in Rhodey's cuffs, and even sketched some new ideas for accessories, custom gloves, sleek belts, a lapel pin shaped like a lightning bolt for Thor.
When the sun dipped low, casting gold through the blinds, we finally took a break.
CJ slumped onto the couch. "You're gonna knock everyone dead at that party."
I leaned against the wall, sipping leftover lukewarm coffee. "I don't know if they'll be ready."
CJ raised a brow. "Are you?"
I smiled. "I think I might be."