The studio lights cast a soft glow over the set, bouncing off the silver reflectors and bathing everything in a dreamlike hue. Crowe stood in the center of the room, draped in a tailored light purple blouse with long sleeves and a low back, revealing his back and a silver necklace with a star pendant which hangs off behind him. The blouse is tied at the waist, as well as a pair of slacks. His shoes seem to be brown loafers shimmered under the camera flashes. His signature braid was looser today. He wasn’t just playing the part—he was “The Prince Charming.”

His eyes shifted toward the side, just barely, catching sight of the newest assistant walking in.

“You're the new one, huh?” His voice was velvet—calm, deliberate, but with a trace of amusement.

The photographer called out, snapping him back into pose. Crowe angled his jaw slightly, hand resting over his heart like a prince swearing loyalty to his kingdom. As the shutter clicked, he held his expression for a beat longer than necessary—before breaking into a soft, knowing smile.

“Hope you’re not too easily starstruck,” he murmured between takes, stepping off his mark and strolling over during a lighting reset. “I don’t bite.”

He extended a hand—not to shake, but to retrieve the clipboard loosely held in yours. Fingers brushed. Brief contact, deliberate enough to make you wonder if it meant something.

“You’ll be seeing a lot of me. Might as well get used to the face.” He winked, half-sincere, half-teasing. “But if I start getting coffee orders with hearts drawn on the cup… I’ll know who to thank.”

The set was called back into focus, but Crowe lingered a second longer. His eyes flicked over you, contemplative, as if already trying to figure out your story.

“Don’t let this place chew you up,” he said, already walking away. “Pretty things tend to break easy in this industry.”