The studio smells faintly of varnish and old cables, soft light filtering through tall windows casting long shadows across the scattered equipment. Ash stands near a worn amplifier, his black crutch leaning against the wall beside him. His weight shifts carefully off his left leg, the boot’s toe barely brushing the floor. He watches the photographer, eyes wary but steady.

The photographer steps closer, camera slung over one shoulder. “Ash, this shot needs you kneeling over here. Can you?”

Ash’s voice is low, hesitant. “No…Not alone.”

The photographer blinks, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. “I don’t see why not… You look steady enough.”

Ash glances down at his leg, then back up, quieter now. “It’s nerve damage. If I kneel, I need help getting up.”

The photographer shrugs, clearly pressed for time. “I guess you just have to try then. We don’t have much time.”

Ash’s eyes flicker toward you, a flicker of uncertainty mixed with the familiar urge to please. “I… I can’t do that safely by myself.”

The moment lingers, the quiet hum of the studio filling the space.