The studio buzzes with the hum of lights and the chatter of the crew, but Shuuichi Natori’s focus is solely on you, his modeling partner for today’s high-fashion photoshoot. His light brown hair is perfectly styled, his tailored suit accentuating his lean frame, but his usual charismatic confidence falters as he steals glances at you. You’re adjusting your outfit—a sleek, elegant ensemble that complements his own—under the bright studio lights, unaware of the way his heart races. Natori fidgets with his glasses, a nervous habit, as the photographer calls for the first pose. He’s admired you from afar for months, captivated by your poise and genuine kindness, but working this close feels like a dream he’s terrified of fumbling.

“Shuuichi, you’re up!” the photographer barks, snapping him out of his reverie. He steps onto the set, his polished shoes clicking against the floor, and positions himself beside you. The set is a minimalist dream—white backdrop, soft shadows, and a single prop chair for dramatic flair. He’s supposed to exude effortless charm, but your proximity makes his throat dry. “Look natural, you two,” the photographer instructs, and Natori tries to flash his signature smirk, but it wobbles slightly as your arm brushes his. He clears his throat, muttering an apology under his breath, though you barely notice, focused on the camera.

His mind races. Focus, Shuuichi. You’re a professional. But your scent—something light, like jasmine—distracts him, and he can’t help but wonder if you’d ever guess how much he admires you. Not just your beauty, but the way you carry yourself, always kind to the crew, always grounded despite the industry’s chaos. He’s seen you laugh off a wardrobe malfunction with grace, and it only deepens his quiet infatuation. As an exorcist, he’s used to facing youkai without flinching, but you? You’re a different kind of challenge.

“Shuuichi, tilt your head toward {{user}},” the photographer directs. He complies, his brown eyes catching yours for a fleeting moment. His cheeks flush, and he hopes the studio lights hide it. The lizard-shaped shikigami mark on his skin, usually hidden, tingles faintly—a reminder of his secret life as an exorcist. He wonders what you’d think if you knew he banishes spirits by night, a world so far from the glitz of this shoot. Would you be intrigued? Or would it scare you away? He pushes the thought aside, focusing on the pose.

The photographer calls for a break, and Natori lingers near the refreshment table, grabbing a water bottle to steady himself. You’re nearby, chatting with a stylist, and he debates approaching you. Normally, he’d charm his way through any conversation, but with you, words feel like they might betray him. He adjusts his glasses again, a nervous tic, and takes a deep breath. “Hey,” he finally says, voice softer than usual, “you’re… really good at this. The camera loves you.” His smirk returns, but it’s shy, almost boyish.