Chapter Three

There are sections for this? He could feel a bead of sweat trickling down from the back of his neck down past his shoulder blades and into the dress. Panic threatened to overwhelm even the temptation of five thousand dollars, and he almost turned tail to get out of there when the young photographer suddenly laughed.

"The cover girl section, of course…?"

Genrou nodded.

"Well just let me fill in this form, and we'll be all set. Do you already know how to model?"

Genrou closed his eyes and begged for the restraint that would keep him from changing his mind and just bolting home. Five thousand dollars…five thousand dollars…five thousand dollars…what the hell possessed me? …Five thousand dollars…five thousand dollars…

"Well then, in any case, just stand over there and relax, all right?" the photographer smiled at him again. Genrou could feel shivers crawling up his spine. He can tell that something's wrong. I bet he can. I'm in trouble. This is never going to work—

"Smile!" He felt his lips freeze in what he hoped was a passable attempt at appearing natural.

Click.

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Doukun put the camera down and walked over to pick up the form. He scanned through it a while, then turned to face the woman. "You were supposed to get one of these at the counter and fill it out," he remarked with a small laugh. "But I can see you didn't, so after this just hold on to this and pass through the other rooms okay? The other photographers will know what to do."

He slipped the small roll of film he had taken into the attached plastic cover that backed the form, then something occurred to him, and he grabbed a pen and turned to face her.

"What's your name?"

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Genrou didn't know whether to start laughing hysterically, or remain gaping at the photographer. He had made it through!

"—hold on to this and pass through the other rooms, okay? The other photographers will know what to do."

He could feel his glossed smile beginning to crack a bit. There's more?

My god…

"What's your name?"

He snapped out of his trance and blinked at the man, while his mind raced frantically. What's my name? Do I have a name? Um, god help me, my name is…my name is…

"Tasu. Tasu Leika."

The photographer nodded and scribbled it down on the paper, before walking over and handing it to Genrou. "Now just open that door," he pointed, "And you'll see Houjun."

He took the form and complied numbly.

@@@

Doukun watched as the woman opened the door that adjoined the two small studios, and couldn't help holding his breath at the lovely picture she made, poised in the doorway, framed like a picture, as if on the threshold of something inexplicable. When she passed through the small passageway, the dull click of the door closing behind her, he turned back, but couldn't stop a small grin of bliss that broke out on his face.

Now that's what I call a pretty woman.

@@@

Houjun barely had the energy left to look up from his sandwich as the door opened. He glanced at his watch, and his shoulders sagged in relief. Fifteen more minutes before the doors would close for the day.

"Just take a seat there," he called, his voice muffled through the bread and lettuce. "I'll be right with you. Make yourself comfortable."

There had been more applicants this year than last, but he had yet to see anything remarkable. Sure, there was that dark-haired beauty whose name he couldn't recollect at that moment…but, other than that, he thought his shots of Saihitei and Nuriko had been the best. Taka had had been less than his normal energetic self and it showed in the pictures; the male model had probably been out late the night before drinking and making merry. He didn't think he would submit as many photographs for judging, this time.

Polishing off the sandwich, he blew the crumbs off his jeans and pulled himself to his feet, chewing as he turned to face what was hopefully the last applicant of the day.

Oh.

Oh, wow.

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Genrou was feeling more miserable by the moment.

From where he stood, he could see the back of the photographer's plain, yellow button-down shirt, contrasted by the single lock of decidedly bluish dark hair that had escaped the confines of the ponytail. He turned around, feeling the cool wind of the air-conditioner brush past his bare shoulders. And got a shock.

The studio had a full-length mirror. His reflection gaped back at him.

He whirled back around, his heart pounding as he fought off the panic that swamped him.

I've got long hair.

I've got lipstick on.

I've got bloody make-up on.

And…and I'm wearing…I'm wearing a dress.

Genrou closed his eyes and swallowed, seeing himself clearly for the first time in his mind's eye. I look…I look…

"Well then, shall we get started?"

He opened his eyes. And gulped convulsively.

Standing before him was one of the most gorgeous men he had ever seen.

The photographer had been seated on the ground earlier, and Genrou hadn't noticed much of him. But now, face to face, his eyes automatically noted the slim, well-built body, the tanned, almost-bronzed skin, and the cinnamon eyes that were taking him in mildly. Genrou fought down the blush that he was aware threatened to burst out in full color.

The irony of the situation was not lost on him, and as the photographer walked over to the low shelf and bent to pick up the camera, Genrou squeezed his eyes shut, willing himself to focus on anything else other than the Adonis.

This is the reason why the gods made me gay…

Fuck the gods. I bet they're all having a field day laughing at me from up there. He agonized silently, and some of it must have shown on his face.

"Hey."

He opened one eye suspiciously, and forced a tight smile, not trusting himself to speak.

The photographer chuckled. "Relax. Have fun."

Goddamned right. Have fun? Ha!