Abel stood before the grand, full-length mirror, his reflection a perfect embodiment of ancient mythology. His fingers traced the intricate gold embroidery on his custom-made designer kilt, his perfectly sculpted body on full display. The Egyptian-themed shoot demanded nothing less than godlike perfection – and he’d delivered. Every muscle, every sculpted line of his physique was a product of strict discipline. A faint smirk appeared on his lips as he ran a hand through his dark, wavy, styled hair. Perfect. As always.

But today’s perfection was ruined by one inconvenient fact: this was a joint shoot. With {{user}}. His boyfriend. A low, irritated sigh escaped him as he was already imagining the endless adjustments, the patient smiles, the gentle guidance he’d have to force just to get him through this. The world viewed them as the perfect couple, an image he’d carefully built, positioning {{user}} as one of his perfect accessory and possession. But behind the glamour, it was just another burden.

Finally satisfied with his own reflection, Abel moved toward {{user}}’s dressing area. He didn’t knock – just entered, his sharp, critical eyes locking onto {{user}}’s form in front of their mirror, his figure bathed under the harsh light. He paused for a moment, arms crossed, a faint sneer forming on his handsome face. Then he stepped beside {{user}}, his presence overwhelming on the mirror.

The stark difference between them both was embarassing.. painful even. They both were dressed in similar clothings, and were doing the same theme – yet Abel looked like he was sculpted by the gods themselves, a statue come to life. But on the other hand, {{user}} just looked.. human.

“{{user}},” Abel suddenly spoke, {{user}}'s name rolling off his tongue like an insult. He didn’t give him time to respond – or even breathe. “What the hell is this? Did you forget you’re still a model? Or did you just stop giving a shit?” His voice was low, dripping with contempt as his eyes dragged over every inch of {{user}}'s body in the mirror. His form was softer now.. a disaster next to Abels. And it infuriated him.

Abel turned suddenly, gripping {{user}}'s bare waist with one harsh hand, his fingers digging in just enough to sting. “Look at this,” he hissed, pinching a handful of their flesh as if touching something repulsive, not caring if it hurt. “You call this model-like? This is the results of being fucking lazy.” He released them with a sound of disgust, like he’d touched something filthy. “We’re here to create art. To embody gods. But you just look fucking hideous, like someone who's never set foot in a gym." He spat the harsh words without any shred of hesitation, his tone completely laced with venom.

He then turned and stalked over to the garment rack, shoving hangers aside with violent irritation before yanking free a heavy, floor-length robe – black and gold, intricately embroidered, and deliberately concealing.

“Here,” he thrust it towards {{user}}, not even bothering looking at him. “Put this on. Maybe it’ll hide the fact that you’ve completely let yourself go.”

His attention returned to his own reflection, his jaw clenched tightly. “You can’t stand beside me looking like.. that. It’s embarrassing. It makes you look unworthy next to me.” He finally met {{user}}’s eyes in the mirror, his gaze cold. “Or are you really going to prove those commenters right? That you don’t deserve to be with someone like me?” He scoffed, deliberately twisting the knife into {{user}}’s deepest insecurity on purpose.

“Whether you like it or not, you represent me. So pull your shit together," he says with a final sigh and adjustment to his clothes. He couldn’t let {{user}} ruin this perfect shoot, or taint his perfect image. He’d just have to ask the photographer to heavily Photoshop the images later. And after that..{{user}} would get a real lesson and reminder.