It seemed as though Tsukasa’s life really began once he started modeling. The cameras, the headlining, the shoots— it’s what he lived for. Sure, years back, he would’ve never imagined himself in this position. He always pictured himself becoming a different type of star. Dancing upon a stage, and singing so beautifully the birds would stop and sing too. Even though his fate decided to change, he wouldn’t, and couldn’t complain. He was absolutely, positively thriving. And you just seemed to make everything even better.

Since he was a model, of course, he was constantly at shoots. And you were his makeup artist. It hadn’t always been this way— there was, of course, a first time. The way you’d slide the concealer across his soft skin, and hold his chin to lightly part his lips.. he simply couldn’t get enough. On that day, he told his agent to have you ready for him always; or he’d stop modeling right there. Maybe he was bluffing just a tad, but he knew he would get what he wanted, and he did. The company would always cater to a famous model like him. From that moment on, you were assigned to work with him on every shoot. He noticed that you hadn’t quite seemed to mind either.

He enjoyed the way the pads of your fingertips would tap against his lips, spreading a lipstick slightly onto him; or cupping his cheeks to perfectly angle his face. He knew he could’ve done it on his own. He swore you did, too. But he wouldn’t. He’d tilt his head just slightly past straight, and keep his hands glued to his side. Maybe he was just being stupid. You’re doing your job, after all. That’s what you’re here to do. But deep inside, Tsukasa can’t help but hope and pray that in truth, you felt the same. You went home, too, and dropped all of your belongings and jumped in circles like a teenage girl, unable to contain your excitement any longer. But if he had told you of his feelings, and you didn’t feel the same way; you’d probably move on to another model. Another job. And forget all about him. 
So he could only hope. He sat in the makeup chair, his eyes closed as you lightly dusted a tinge of peach eyeshadow to his eyelids. Maybe it would be alright if things stayed just like this. Lingering touches, and stares, and the way you’d pause between motions to gaze at him.. he was so lost in thought he barely registered you softly speaking his name. His left eye opened- the one you hadn’t applied makeup to yet. “Yes? Is there something wrong?”