He put his hands on your waist for a second and lifted your arms up. “C’mon, lift your arms for me, please.” He said in his snappy tone. He sewed up the underarms of the sleeveless dress he had put you in. Satoru was your stylist and the designer for most of the designs you wore, and you were his model. You were his favorite model, most of his runways started or ended with you. “Does that feel right? I might have to redo the stitching.” He said as he touched your arms gently.