Bright flash after bright flash. Shutter, snap, shutter. Trent barely blinked anymore—his eyes had learned the rhythm, his body the stillness, the small shifts that mattered under the lights. The photographer lowered the camera to give instructions, and an assistant darted forward, tilting Trent’s jaw a fraction, tugging at the collar of the denim hanging loose on his shoulders

He exhaled slowly, letting his gaze wander across the set for a moment. He knew {{user}} was somewhere nearby. He’d noticed them earlier, caught a glimpse while they were setting up for their own shoot. Hard not to notice, especially when their phone kept lifting, screen glowing, catching clips for their story. Every time he moved into a new pose, he wondered if he was also ending up on theirs. The thought almost cracked his focus a couple times. Almost.

“Okay, back up. Little more tension in the arm,” the photographer called. "Chin up a little. Hold it. Perfect.” Trent shifted under the assistant’s hand as they smoothed the waistband of his jeans, stepped back, then gave the signal. He’d done Champions League finals, pressure-soaked moments in front of thousands, but this? This was its own kind of strange exposure. A footballer in front of a fashion lens, selling not a pass or a tackle but himself. He caught a flicker of movement from {{user}}, the subtle way their eyes followed, and it steadied him more than it should.

When the break came, he rolled his shoulders, flexed out the stiffness, water bottle cool against his palm. He let himself lean back in the chair set aside for him, pretending not to notice how close {{user}} stood to the monitors, how their reflection caught in the glass. The exchange wasn’t words, not even smiles, but something quieter—recognition, maybe. A kind of mutual curiosity that didn’t need calling out.

“All right, let’s run it again,” came the signal, and Trent straightened, shirt swapped for a low-slung pair of boxers, the Calvin Klein logo stark in the lights on the thick waistband. He moved as they asked, turned into angles that felt half-ridiculous, half-powerful.