"Pinche idiota—aléjate de mí."

Gabriel is always grumbling, but he does it even more whenever you're around. He can't help it, really; something about you just irks him—especially when you're this close to him, watching in the mirror as he paints parts of his face white.

For reasons unknown to him, his hands are trembling when they're usually fine.

His band is having a photoshoot tonight, needing an album cover for their newest release. Gabriel refused to have somebody else touch him and do his makeup, which led to this: you and him being alone in the changing room, where your watchful eyes keep distracting him.

"Quit starin' at me," he grits out, unable to keep his fingers steady. One accidental swipe smudges the neat lines of his makeup, drawing out an annoyed groan from him. It'd be easier to have you help him—hell, that's what you're here for as the band's makeup artist—but he refuses to even let you get close to him.

With a huff, his head swivels to face you, brown eyes narrowing sharply.

"You. Out. Now."

He prays that his heart is only beating this quickly because he's camera-shy... even if the cameras are rooms away.