Chapter 2: Snapped
Miku holds back the desire to wipe a hand across her eyes as a make-up woman dabs at her lips, staining them a bright cherry red. Her lashes feel heavy, clumped with mascara and rimmed with traces of the grey shadow dusting her lids. As she lowers her gaze slightly she can catch sight of each individual strand of the delicate hair, lengthened and curled to perfection.
The lady smacks her lips at her and she follows suit, rubbing her thumbs together to alleviate the irritation all these cosmetics are causing her. She breathes in a breath of powdery air and gently coughs it back out, ignoring the glare of the lady as she moves back to her hair, curling the long locks around an iron.
With an unnoticeable sigh Miku spreads her hands out across her skirt, black and sophisticated, matching perfectly with the simple button down tucked into it. This is one of the less glamorous shoots she has done – a mere magazine flyer for an electronics company – and she finds herself relaxing slightly, assured that it's unlikely that she would become covered in feathers or stripped half-naked or any of the other degrading things people have ordered on her in the past.
A final curl of warm teal hair falls to her back and she stands, noting herself in the mirror for a moment. Seeing it in person, her obsessive hairdo and heavy make-up seem ridiculous, fanatical, but on the screen she's learned that it will be just the opposite; she'd look just like every other ad if not for the cosmetics that fade in the bright light and serve to only make her eye-catching. There's no such thing as overdone when any attention is good attention.
Someone snaps and she glances sideways, seeing her manger stride up and assess her, nodding after a moment and ushering her over to where a white expanse of fabric is draped, umbrella lights shining full blast. She pulls herself into a light and perfect posture, letting a small smile trace across her lips before stepping onto the fabric, stopping at a small red 'x' scored across it. She faces the lights, blinking to adjust her eyes, and slowly focuses on the people behind the cameras, listening for their orders.
Her brows furrow against her will as she stares through the glare to the empty darkness behind. She waits a moment, silently waiting for someone to appear and tell her what to do, how to pose, before glancing back the way she came. Her manger has run off somewhere, likely talking to the cosmetologists, and she is left alone in the set, feeling confused, let down, and a little annoyed.
There's a flash and a click as her picture is snapped, her pupils shrinking and dilating again at the sudden change of light. She turns back to the cameras, blinking once more, and squinting as she peers through the brightness to find whoever is manning the equipment.
Her eyes fall on a man, his eyes lowered to observe the screen of a laptop. In the darkness behind the lights he almost seems to blend into the background, his dark clothing and hair seeming like a mere discoloration of the far wall. His pale skin echoes back white where light from the screen touches it and small silvery squares reflect in his neutral eyes. Only his fingers move as he types something into the laptop, pulling a file from here to there. Miku can't decide whether he had just arrived in the past few seconds or if he had been standing back there the whole time, blending in with the obscurity.
With a definite click of the mouse pad he raises his gaze from the computer and locks his eyes on her. She stares back, waiting for an order, a comment, an introduction, but having no such thing come. His gaze bores into her, somehow heavy yet distant, and she realizes that he's waiting for her to speak.
"I…I wasn't ready." Her voice comes out surprisingly loud, sounding assertive even to her own ears. The man shifts his position, tapping something again on his equipment and moving his gaze off her. She breathes in, surprised at the way the air in the room seems to have lightened with just that movement.
"I know," is his simple response, his voice low and monotone, with the strangest hint of tedium underneath. She finds herself stepping forward, bringing herself a few feet closer to the man to catch his hushed words.
"Then why'd you-?" she cuts herself off, wishing to retract the words as soon as she said them. It is her experience that conversation is usually not wanted for from the people she works with. They want to get the job done and leave, collect some green bills and maybe idly chat around a bar later about who's screwing who while their cheeks flush red with alcohol. Before she can move her gaze away however, or step back to her original position, the man grabs the top of the laptop, spinning the machine around to face her.
There's a picture of her displayed on the screen; the one he must've just taken. She holds her breath as she surveys the photo, white and stark, and the echo of herself in it, the pose she had unwittingly taken just a moment ago. Only the profile of her face is visible, aquamarine curls tumbling over one shoulder as she turned. Her stance is wide, her legs straining at the fabric of the skirt as her arms sway with momentum. Wide blue eyes gaze off into the distance expectantly, holding just a bit of grief. It's a dramatic looking stance and it rings almost comically in Miku's mind that all she had been doing at the time was looking for someone to explain to her what was going on.
"It was a good shot," he replies simply and pulls the computer back around to face him. He clicks around a few more times, the light of the screen bouncing off his pale face and casting long shadows. Miku stands quietly, stretching her patience in the silence and still waiting for orders. Her gaze never leaves his face, but either he doesn't notice or doesn't care and just continues on with his electronic work.
She watches his eyes move back and forth over the screen, seemingly reading, and steps forward again. Gathering courage she briskly walks the rest of the way, coming to a stop at his side and glancing at the screen. A red four flies across the board to land on a black three. He's playing solitaire.
"Who are you?" Her words come out rather incredulously but the man only shrugs, moving an ace to the side.
"The photographer."
"Then shouldn't you be…taking photos?"
He lifts his head slightly, straightening his stance until he reaches full height, looming a good foot above Miku. She stares up at him, seemingly bored and slightly intimidating, and notices that the dark eyes she thought to be black are actually a very deep blue, like half-lidded tidal pools.
"Who are you?" he retorts, his voice dry. Miku furrows her eyebrows slightly.
"The model."
The man blinks slowly, raising a hand and gesturing over to the area she had come from. "Then shouldn't you be posing?" A thumb jabs at the white sheet covering the wall, his voice low and grumbly. "Over there?"
She sticks her chin out, glad for once of the concealer on her skin as she feels her face flush. Without a word she moves back to the red mark in the floor, turning to face the cameraman. He stares back impassively, his gaze slowly raking up and down her with an intensity that leaves her feeling rather raw. She's used to the look-over most photographers give her when she meets them and she prepares herself for their critical remarks, but something about the way he inspects her seems different. Instead of just focusing on the attributes she knows most stylists notice about her – long legs, tiny waist, big eyes – he seems to be looking at everything, visible or not, desirable or not, and his expression remains unruffled and inexpressive. By the time he looks over to write something down she feels like somehow he had read her entire life story without her ever writing it out.
"Bend over." She blinks mutely and he gazes back deadpan, his head jerking to the right. "Sideways." Awkwardly she stretches her torso to the side, her view of the room slanting. With an irritated sigh he sets his pencil down and strides out into the light, the lamps reflecting off his tousled hair and revealing it to be a brilliant shade of cobalt. He moves behind her without a word, fingers wrapping around her hips without preamble and pushing them to the left, her upper body remaining tilted to the right. A hand slides down to grip her knee, staggering her stance and pointing her feet outward. He steps back and comes to her front, looking up and down with the same dispassionate glare that Miku is beginning to think is normal.
She finds herself moving into the pose, shifting her weight and bringing up a hand to her hip, the other hanging in the air near her face almost teasingly. Tilting her head up and away she flashes a wide smile, barely showing her teeth. Her lashes flitter down just enough to frame large aqua orbs, but not detract from them. A strand of curls falls down her shoulder to leave the rest in a neat wave down her back.
He turns and walks back to his station, briskly snatching up a lens and attaching it before snapping ten photos in quick succession. He moves a little with each one so there's a new angle, a new perspective each time. With the last click, he lowers the tool away from his face, eyes lowered and brows slightly knitted. Pushing himself up from his knees he moves back to the laptop, retrieving a microchip from the camera and inserting it into a drive.
Miku pulls herself out of the stance, wincing at the release of the uncomfortable pull it had put on her left leg. Instantly his gaze flashes back to her, dark and heavy, and she halts her actions, looking back questioningly.
"I didn't say we were done." She squares her shoulders at the statement, wondering how easy – or hard – it would be to convince him into taking that pose and holding it. A retort bubbles up under her lips, surprising her, but before it can escape a hand presses onto her shoulder and she glances up, meeting the nonchalant violet gaze of her manger.
"So, I see you two have met." He hums a little tune as he glances between the two of them, his head swaying with the music. The photographer reluctantly nods in his direction, noting his arrival. If her manger noticed the complete dullness with which the shutterbug watched him he didn't express it, and just babbled on encouragingly to Miku.
"Crypton has signed on for you for the next month. They want you to be their new covergirl," he explains at her blank expression and hands her a packet of papers and a pen, indicating where she would need to sign to secure the deal with said electronics corporation. "They noticed your rising popularity and thought it best to strike while the iron's hot!" He chuckles at his own words and continues pointing out things in the contract for Miku to attend to as he continues. "If all goes well, we may have business with them for a while yet!"
Flipping through the sheets, she blindly signs empty lines, assured that someone will have already looked over the details and not really caring about them anyway. She never has a problem with any kind of agreement or payment; it's usually her manager who starts a fire and demands more money, more publicity. Authorizing the final paper she hands the stack back, following when he gestures for her to come along. Handing the contract off to someone he strikes up another conversation, chatting and laughing and leaving Miku to gaze tiredly around the studio. Her eyes trail back to the set, where the lights are still shining brightly. Her brow furrows as she recalls the first thing her manager had said when he came over there, remarking on her meeting the photographer as if it was important. With a frown she takes a step back towards the area, peering into the darkness beyond the lights, but finds that there is nothing there to see.
Kaito: Bend over.
Miku: O/O Whut.
Kaito: SIDEWAYS.
Miku: Oh, wait...is that possible?
Get your mind out of the gutter Miku (This was soooooo not intended XD)
A/N: Ah yes...Kaito is a jerk. This is so strange to write compared to my last MikuxKai story. Everyone is practically their opposites...
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