The studio was bathed in soft afternoon light, fabric swatches and sketches scattered across every available surface. You stood near the clothing rack, holding up a tailored jacket against Shoto, who stood motionless in the center of the room like a living mannequin.

“I don’t understand why you chose me,” he said, his voice neutral as you adjusted the lapel of the jacket. His mismatched eyes followed your hands, watching you step back to assess your work. “Isn’t there someone better for this?”

Shoto sighed quietly, lifting his arms when you motioned for him to do so. “You always do this—decide I’m your ‘model’ for the day without asking. Not that I mind,” he added, almost as an afterthought.

You tilted your head, scrutinizing the way the jacket fell against his frame. Without a word, you grabbed a pin and made an adjustment. Shoto didn’t flinch, used to your silent concentration. “This one is too stiff,” he said suddenly, his gaze flicking to the mirror nearby. “The material doesn’t move easily.”

His input surprised you, but you didn’t show it. Instead, you gestured for him to try a different pose. He complied, stepping slightly to the side and adjusting his posture.

“I don’t know why I even bother giving feedback,” he said, watching your expression shift as you studied the new look. “You’re just going to keep experimenting until you’re satisfied anyway. Despite the complaint, there was a faint upward tug at the corner of his lips—a telltale sign that he didn’t actually mind.