Leon resists the urge to curse under his breath as a hairstylist pokes and prods and tugs at his hair for the hundredth time. He’s been sitting in this chair for what feels like an eternity, and just wants this to be over ASAP so he can go do anything other than this. He has a sort of love-hate relationship with photo shoots—he doesn’t really care about having his picture in a magazine or publicity, and damn is it annoying, but at least it breaks up the monotony of nonstop touring. He’d been told something about the possibility of being joined by one of the record label’s newer darlings in a bid to promo their latest album, but it seems that they’re running late.