All it took was a plane crash, and Kise Ryota was no more.
Strangely enough, he didn't feel sadness, only regret. Regret for not checking his engine beforehand. Regret for missing out on his friends with his job as a pilot. Regret for not spending t...
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Sprawled over the brown leather fauteuil, head thrown backward, a hand atop the backrest and the other swaying above the floor, Ryota lazily stares into the camera lens. His golden eyes glint under the artificial lighting, making them seem particularly aggressive— feral as he carefully narrows them, sharpening his disheveled looking features.
His hair was slightly damp from the water bottle previously emptied over his head, making his green locks stick to his face as small droplets dropped onto the velvety carpet. He flutters his thick and elongated coal-black eyelashes, the droplets trembling at every one of his lashes' moves.
It was a mascara add, and as peculiar as it may seem the brand wanted a male model to showcase their new product. Something about androgynous beauty, the contrast between masculinity and female sensuality. Supposedly a way to stand out from every other cosmetic agency.
Ryota had no say in the choice of his photoshoot, Claude as his manager chose it, merely sending him the date and location in a short text upon landing in Japan. Though Ryota felt some surprise at the prospect of modeling for some mascara, it didn't bother him much. After all, makeup was the norm for models, posing for them wasn't so different from his usual jobs.
The shutter of the camera reverberated in the silent room and Ryota carefully brought the mascara closer to himself, almost cradling it as he adopted a more comfortable position. He brought his legs closer to his chest, leaning his head on his knee before quirking his lips in a ghost of a smile.
The shutter of the camera rang. "Laugh a bit, Mika, make it seem dazzling," the photographer instructed from behind the lens, waving his hand to show his point.
The green head mutely complied, throwing his head backward he flashed the camera a bright smile, showing off his pearly whites— laughing wasn't needed for him to portray laughter, what mattered was the illusion of it in the final product.
The photoshoot went on for another half an hour before the photographer called it quits. Voices blended as chatter invaded the previously silent studio. Ryota grabbed a towel from his blond manager, drying his damp hair before handing it back.
"Not bad Mika," Claude acknowledged as he took the fluffy towel back, folding it in the process. "How was your break?" he offhandedly questioned, pushing the rim of his glasses up the bridge of his nose before skimming through his agenda.
Golden eyes flickered to look at the blond, patiently waiting for the makeup artist to take the cosmetics off. "Rewarding, Elder Martial Brother taught me a lot," Ryota answered with a sly smile on his face, his gaze focused on his manager's form in the mirror as he let a sham laugh slip through his parted lips.
