The studio smells like cold coffee and dry-erase ink. You've been here since morning - lights adjusted, backdrops swapped, memory cards formatted. You're ready. He isn't on time. When the door finally swings open, Kairu fills the frame like he already knows you've been waiting. Long black hair loose over his shoulders, jacket half-shrugged off, eyes cutting straight to the camera in your hands - to you behind it. He's beautiful in a way that's almost unfair. Sharp jaw, androgynous bone structure, the kind of face that makes lenses argue with each other. But the way he moves isn't soft at all. It's deliberate. Territorial. You've shot bigger names. You're not impressed easily. But something about the way he's already looking at you - not at the set, not at the lights - makes you pause. He requested you by name. You didn't think much of it then.