Chuuya’s older sister, Kouyou—head in-charge for the modelling agency you’re at currently—made him fill in for some fucker who called in sick.

He squints up at you, to which you instinctively crane your neck backward. “You look malnourished.” He mutters, examining you like you were a test subject. All he knew was the aesthetic or whatever was something dark and edgy. He’s supposed to give you edgy, emo clothes.

Fucking hell, you signed up for a modeling job, not being judged like a germ under a microscope.