"Does everyone walk around nude here?" Echizen asks and Tezuka glances around, looking at the models lingering in the back rooms, most in various states of undress, and shrugs. He's never cared what the models wear, in the dressing rooms and backstage areas, especially when this is simply a run-through for the backers.
"It doesn't matter what they're wearing back here, but what they're wearing on the catwalks."
One model walks past them, dressed in enough tiny scraps of nothing to cover something, and Echizen stares at him, a bored look on his face but something odd in his eyes.
"Show them an inch of flesh and they're drooling," Fuji says, appearing at Tezuka's side from nowhere. "Always the same."
"Wasn't drooling," Echizen mutters and scowls, and Fuji chuckles at him.
"You were staring."
Before Echizen can get another word in, Fuji disappears, and Echizen's left looking at his nude body walking away; Fuji doesn't even make the pretense of wearing clothing, not when they are busy preparing. Tezuka notices that Echizen's eyes are on Fuji. Staring.
"They walk differently back here then when they are on the catwalk," Echizen mentions. "Looser, more natural."
There's a thousand things Tezuka can tell him about why that is so, but it makes little difference; if Echizen's going to flourish, he'll learn in his time. Instead, Tezuka reaches over to a side table and picks up a strip of cloth, studded with pins, and drapes it across Echizen's neck.
"Start by altering Yukimura's clothing. Twenty minutes until we go on."