On the busiest street of the city stood a mannequin. The most well dressed mannequin in possibly the entire country. His number was GS1872 and everyday, he was stared at by at least ninety percent of the country's 'fashionable' population.

That made him a proud mannequin.

"Don't I look very good today, 1700?"

"Oh god! Stop him Fibre," 1700 groaned in frustration.

"My name is Glass, you can fashionably call me Gloss. Just don't call me... 'fibre'..." Glass replied, disgusted by the name he was known by.

"How cruel of you, 1700!" 1872 gasped. Pat, one of the store managers came and picked him up off the pedestal.

Mark ran over to help her and Axel carried a bag of clothes to the back of the store. 1872 just loved how everyone at the store was like family.

After all, together  we survive.

All the employees were gathered at the meeting room and 1872 was placed in front of them. The tall young man, who owned the brand, was standing at one end of the room.

He ran his judgemental eyes over 1872, looking like he was contemplating life decisions. 1872 was so used to the look that instead of making him feel threatened, it made him want to laugh.

But obviously, he couldn't.

"These are so yesterday..." the man growled.

"New line. Now!" he snapped.

The people he paid shook in fear and nodded, unlike 1872, who just coolly gazed at the man.

The man then went on to give them all what was meant to be a pep talk. It came out more like a threat.

"... number one!... Blings... no way... fired!" 1872 could only catch very small portions of the talk as he was too busy studying the handsome man's face and understanding his emotions.

He seemed... angry, but also sad.

No matter how much he tried, 1872 couldn't understand the pressure of having to run the world's best fashion company and hold onto the position. The man was stressed.

After being changed and completely remodelled, 1872 was taken back to his usual spot at the display window. The very centre pedestal.

1872 stood there, watching the world, his world, through Gloss.

"Hey Gloss..." he called out softly.

"Yeah..."

"What lies beyond you?"

Curiosity killed the cat.

Gloss didn't reply afterwards and 1872 sighed in exhaustion.

"I don't even wanna know anymore."

The day went by, and a lot of people came to see the 'latest' collection. 1700 was moved to some other spot and the mannequin next to 1872 was unfamiliar and strange.

And also extremely antisocial.

"What's your name?" 1872 boldly asked the first female mannequin he'd ever seen. There was a whole other store for womenswear and he wondered why she was there.

'Things are changing...' he thought to himself.

The female didn't answer and continued to look ahead of her, her stare colder than the weather outside.

Gloss laughed at 1872's failed attempt and 1872's face tinged pink. At moments like these, 1872 thanked the Heavens he came from for giving him a very dark coating of painting.

Someone came by and stopped outside the store. It was a girl.

The girl put her small hands on Gloss. Gloss sighed.

"Her hands are so warm..."

"Shut up Gloss."

1872 tried to get a good look at her face, through the layers of scarves covering her. But unfortunately for him, her pale grey eyes were all he could see.

Her eyes seemed to sparkle as they reflected the store's bright lights. She was staring at the new mannequin.

'I'm more good looking,' 1872 thought. 'Why'd she look at her?'

After about five minutes of staring, she pulled away from Gloss and shut her eyes, looking determined.

"Gloss, what's she saying?"

"I can't hear."

"Damn you Gloss, for being soundproof and part deaf!"

"It's not my fault!"

"Sure! Let's blame the designer for the faulty piece!"

Gloss chuckled. "Wait she's coming closer. I'll tell you what she's saying."

The mannequins watched as the girl rambled on and for once, Gloss made an actual effort.