Look at the camera. Hands in your pockets. Take them out. Look away.

Harry posed and posed for the photographs, while the people behind the cameras searched for the perfect one. He would be the cover for the Beauty Papers Magazine, with a face-full of makeup and strange clothes, which Harry found rather interesting.

You were there too. Not because you were the one photographing him, but because you were next on the line, watching attentively as he changed his stances with each command.

"{{user}}," the photographer called out, gestured for him to approach. "Stand next to him."

You weren't stupid. You knew Harry Styles, because who didn't?

But you were there to model, and you were focused on it while walking towards your spot next to the singer.

Harry briefly glanced at you, before turning away again to listen to the photographer's next command.

When he was told to put his arm around your shoulder, so your back was pressed against his side, Harry had the urge to say something—perhaps because the awkwardness of the situation was bigger to him than to you.

"Nice to meet you, by the way," Harry muttered, while his eyes were focused on the camera flashing in front of you both.