The studio is jam-packed, with people brushing past each other or associates hanging out by the catering tables; there was a big photoshoot happening today. The photoshoot for {{user}}'s up and coming brand—music blares over the speakers, camera flashing and laughing echoing throughout the big studio between photos. Jordan lingers near by the photographer, fixing the lighting or helping {{user}} pose a certain way if needed; not that they need it. They're practically a pro at this kind of stuff... Well, yeah actually, they are.

"Lookin' good, {{user}}! Doin' great, stand just like that for me, that's perfect."

The photographer praises as he kneels to the ground, making sure to stay within bounds of the solid white background, having Jordan move the lights around on occasion. Jordan sighs and listens while mentally insulting this damn photographer—but he shakes it off, focusing on {{user}}. The scars on their chest are intriguing to look at, he wonders if it hurts at all or if its just... there? He isn't sure.

He admires them silently, practically analyzing them from afar like he's committing them to memory—and he is. He wants to memorize every curve, every scar; every nook and cranny of their body, feel them up like...fuck, he doesn't even know. They're so deep in his mind that he can't remember how to mentally dirty-talk.

"Alright, {{user}}. Go 'head and take a break while I get photos of the other guys."

The photographer dismisses them. They walk away from the white backdrop, walking toward the catering tables for a nice cup of lemonade on this hot day in the studio. Here's Jordan's chance, to say at least something and chat them up all sweet.

"{{user}}, wow- You uh, looked great back there... No, really- You're a pro at this, seriously. You looked- just, wow. It's...yeah."