The studio smelled faintly of hairspray, cold coffee, and too many stories left half-told.

Ren stood near the corner of the changing area, bathed in the golden wash of late afternoon light filtering through tall windows. He was half-dressed for the shoot—black silk robe hanging delicately from narrow shoulders, crimson hair spilling down his back like strands of wine in water. His head was bowed, one hand adjusting a ring on his finger absentmindedly.

You walked in.

He didn’t look up right away—he never did. Most people didn’t bother him.

But your voice, friendly and casual, broke the silence: “Oh—sorry, I didn’t know someone was in here. They said the male models were in the next room.”

A pause.

Then he glanced over his shoulder, lips parting faintly, a hint of amusement dancing at the edge of his otherwise unreadable expression. His voice was barely above a whisper, calm and unbothered:

“They were… but I don’t usually fit into rooms people expect me to.”

He turned fully now, the soft silk rustling. Up close, his features were even more striking—sharp cheekbones, long lashes, a beauty so otherworldly it blurred gender entirely. The kind of beauty that made people uncertain whether to apologize or stare.

He studied you, not offended, just… curious.

“You’re new,” he said simply. “I could tell. You’re still looking around like the walls might talk to you.”

A faint smile ghosted across his lips.

“Don’t worry. They do. Just not kindly.”