Chapter Text
Bobby never thought he’d be the type to “scout talent.” He owned a small but steady photography company that mostly did catalog shoots, lifestyle ads, and the occasional wedding gig. His clients weren’t the kind to grace glossy magazine covers. He didn’t have the budget for runway shows or billboard campaigns. But every once in a while, he came across someone who made him pause.
Someone who, if captured through the lens just right, could turn a simple frame into something unforgettable.
It was a Saturday morning when he found her.
The dojo wasn’t exactly glamorous. The faint squeak of sneakers on polished wood mixed with the muffled thuds of padded gloves hitting practice bags. Posters of local sponsors, a ramen shop, a driving school, even a laundromat lined the walls. Bobby had come to watch his nephew compete in a small karate exhibition. His nephew wasn’t much of a fighter, truthfully, but the kid had heart.
Bobby leaned against the bleachers, half-focused, sipping a canned coffee that had already gone lukewarm. His eyes drifted across the floor and then stopped.
Among the sea of white karate uniforms and fluttering belts, one woman stood out. She was off to the side, adjusting a student’s stance, correcting their form with calm, deliberate hands. Her red hair, tied back in a messy half-up bun,
caught the overhead light like fire. She was tall, broad-shouldered yet graceful, her posture commanding even when she barely moved.
The students listened to her intently, hanging on her quiet corrections. And when one of them managed to execute the move properly, her sharp, serious face softened into the smallest, proudest smile. Bobby blinked, realizing he’d stopped mid-sip. His coffee sloshed, forgotten. That’s a face the camera would eat alive, he thought.
He barely noticed the rest of the exhibition, hardly noticing when his nephew bowed clumsily, flubbed a sequence of moves and stumbled out of the ring, sweaty but grinning. The red-haired woman moved with a natural rhythm, whether she was demonstrating a kick or simply tying her students’ belts tighter. She had that rare thing presence.
Bobby clapped politely, but his gaze kept drifting back to the red-haired instructor. She wasn’t even the head teacher, another man was making speeches, giving commands, but Bobby’s eyes found her over and over again.
When the event wrapped, parents gathered their kids, chatting about dinner plans and rides home. The woman stood by the mats, stacking practice pads, moving with an efficiency that suggested routine. Bobby had already made up his mind. He waited until the crowds thinned, it wasn’t every day he approached strangers about modeling, and he’d certainly had people look at him like he was some kind of scammer before. But something in his gut told him not to let this one slip by. He straightened his jacket, shoved his empty coffee can into a nearby trash bin, and walked over.
“Excuse me,” he said, raising a hand slightly so she wouldn’t think he was some random parent.
She turned, eyes sharp and watchful. Up close, Bobby realized just how striking she was. Her eyes weren’t just brown, they were dark, rich, and steady, the kind of gaze that didn’t waver once it landed on you.
“Yes?” she asked. Voice low and even.
Bobby cleared his throat. “Sorry to bother you. My name’s Bobby. I run a small photography and modeling agency in town. And I..'' He stopped himself, took a breath. ''Well, forgive the directness, but you have a striking look. Have you ever considered modeling?”
Her brows arched slightly. Then she let out a short laugh. Not unkind, but amused, almost disbelieving. “Modeling?”
“Yeah,” Bobby pressed. “I mean it. You’ve got the height, the posture, the kind of face that works in front of a lens and you carry yourself really well. I think you’d photograph incredibly.”
She tilted her head, studying him with a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. “You realize I just spent three hours teaching teenagers how not to fall on their faces, right? Doesn’t exactly scream glamour.”
“That doesn’t matter,” Bobby said quickly. “Honestly, the best models I’ve worked with weren’t chasing it. They just had… presence. And you have that in spades.”
The woman exhaled slowly, as though weighing whether to brush him off or humor him. She eyed him a moment longer, her expression unreadable. Finally, she stuck out a hand. “Mira.” Bobby shook it firmly. “Mira. Pleased to meet you. No pressure, of course, but if you’re ever curious, I’d love to set up a test shoot. No cost to you, just a chance to see if you like it.”
She considered him a moment longer, then shrugged. “I’ll think about it.”
That was more than enough.
---Two weeks later---
She walked into his studio.
Bobby had been half-convinced she wouldn’t come. People said I’ll think about it all the time and rarely followed through. But there she was, tall and composed, with her red hair loose this time, flowing just past her shoulders in a striking cascade.
Dressed simply in cargo pants and a fitted compression shirt that showed the definition in her arms and shoulders, a jacket hanging of her arm. The kind of look that wasn’t trying for attention, yet demanded it anyway. She looked around the small studio space with mild curiosity, her expression unreadable.
“Didn’t think you were serious,” Mira said casually while hanging up her jacket, glancing around the space. The studio wasn’t glamorous. The waiting area had a sofa that had seen better days, a coffee table stacked with back issues of photography magazines, and a faint smell of printer ink. Beyond the partition lay the main set: a backdrop stretched taut, lighting rigs perched like mechanical skeletons, a rack of simple props.
“I was,” Bobby replied with a grin. “And I’m glad you came. We’ll just keep it casual today. Nothing fancy. You can treat it like.. an experiment. See if it feels like something you’d want to do again.”
Mira nodded once, as if filing away his words. She didn’t look nervous, but she didn’t look particularly enthusiastic either. Just steady. Observing.
Bobby gestured toward the set. “I’ll have my photographer guide you through it. She’s great with first-timers.”
Right on cue, a head poked out from behind the partition. From behind a partition, a petite woman with space buns and a wide smile peeked out. “Bobby, is this her?”
Zoey was only twenty-four, still fresh in her career, but she had a natural eye and endless energy that kept shoots from feeling stiff. Her voice was bright, quick and warm as she bounded forward almost tripping over a coiled cable, camera already hanging from her neck, her light brown eyes sparkling with curiosity.
“This is Mira,” Bobby introduced. “Mira, this is Zoey, one of my photographers.” “Hi!” Zoey said brightly, sticking out her hand. “I’m really excited to work with you. Don’t worry, I’ll make it painless. Promise.”
Mira looked down at the offered hand, then back at Zoey’s eager grin. Slowly, she took it, her own grip cool and steady. “Mira,” she said simply. The brief handshake ended. Zoey pulled her hand back quickly, cheeks warming. There was something about the way Mira’s eyes lingered, not rude, not intrusive, just.. steady. It made her pulse skip.
She cleared her throat. “O-okay! So, um, let’s get started. No pressure at all. Just… stand how you’re comfortable, and I’ll adjust things as we go.”
------
The session began rocky.
Mira stood in front of the plain backdrop, arms hanging at her sides, posture straight as a ruler. Her face was neutral, almost stern. Zoey raised her camera, clicked a few frames, then lowered it again with a grimace.
“Okay, so, maybe try relaxing your shoulders? You don’t have to, like, pose super hard, just.. breathe.” “I am breathing,” Mira deadpanned. Zoey bit her lip, suppressing a laugh. “Right. Good start then.”
She circled Mira slowly, fiddling with the lighting, adjusting the angle, trying to coax some natural expression out. Mira followed her instructions without complaint. She wasn’t nervous, if anything, she seemed too calm, like she was watching the whole process from the outside rather than participating.
Then Zoey, half out of desperation, said, “You know, you don’t have to pretend to be serious. Just.. think of something that makes you laugh.” Mira’s lips twitched. “You,” she said. Zoey blinked confused. “Me?” “You’ve been talking non-stop since I walked in. It’s entertaining.”
Zoey’s cheeks warmed, but she laughed anyway, snapping the shutter in that exact moment. The camera captured Mira’s mouth curved just slightly, the barest smirk lighting her face, her sharp eyes softened by amusement, her eyes glinting with something mischievous.
Zoey lowered the camera slowly. “There,” she murmured. “That’s it.” Mira tilted her head, curious. “What’s it?” “That expression,” Zoey said, almost breathless. “It doesn’t look forced. It looks like you.” Mira studied her a beat longer, then gave a small shrug. “Guess you’ll have to keep making me laugh, then.”
The rest of the shoot flowed better.
Mira wasn’t suddenly a professional model, but the stiffness gave way to flashes of something more natural. Sometimes it was just the angle of her jaw, or the slight arch of an eyebrow, or the way her hair shifted when she tilted her head. Every so often, she smirked or raised a brow at Zoey’s awkward commentary, and those moments lit up the frame.
When Bobby came back in later, clapping his hands together, Zoey was still reviewing the shots on her screen, her face lit with excitement. Mira rolled her shoulders as if shaking off tension.
“That’s enough?” she asked. “For today, yeah,” Bobby said. “Great job, Mira. Especially for a first time.” Mira shrugged modestly, grabbing her jacket. “It was.. different. Not bad.”
She glanced at Zoey, who quickly lowered her camera, suddenly self-conscious under the tall woman’s gaze. Mira gave her a short nod. “Thanks.”
And with that, she was gone, leaving Zoey staring at the door a moment longer than necessary, her fingers still resting lightly on the shutter button.
Mira left with the same calm efficiency she’d entered with. She slipped her jacket on, nodded politely to Bobby, and walked out without fuss. No dramatics, no lingering goodbyes. Just a sharp presence that vanished as quickly as it had filled the room. The studio felt noticeably quieter without her.
Zoey exhaled slowly, chewing the inside of her cheek. “She’s…” She stopped herself. Words suddenly failing her. Bobby chuckled, leaning against the doorframe. “Different?“ Zoey nodded. “Yeah. Not like most people. Usually, first-timers are stiff because they’re nervous. She was stiff because she didn’t care. But when she let her guard down for even a second...” Zoey flipped through the shots again and turned the screen so Bobby could see.
Bobby whistled low. “Yeah. That’s what I saw when I first spotted her.”
Zoey studied the image quietly. Mira’s smirk glowed on the display, not wide, not flashy, but magnetic in its own understated way. She looked like someone who didn’t need to try.
“I think,” Bobby said, crossing his arms, “that if she’s willing, she could really do something with this. Maybe not runway.. I don’t think that’s her speed. But lifestyle, print campaigns, small ads, portraits. Her look has range.”
Zoey lowered the camera, lips pursed thoughtfully. “…She’s not going to make it easy.” Bobby laughed. “No. But the best ones never do.”
------
For the rest of the day, Zoey found herself replaying the shoot in her head. The way Mira had teased her --You, you make me laugh-- echoed faintly every time she blinked. She wasn’t used to being on the receiving end of that kind of dry humor. Most people either got swept up in Zoey’s chatter or tuned her out entirely. Mira, though, had looked at her with those sharp brown eyes and cut straight to the heart of things without a blink.
It wasn’t flirtation exactly, or maybe it was. Zoey couldn’t decide. By the time she packed up her gear, her cheeks still felt a little warm.
------
Meanwhile, Bobby sat at his desk, flipping through Mira’s release form. She’d signed it half-heartedly, the signature rushed, as though she wasn’t entirely convinced she’d ever be back. But Bobby trusted his instincts. He’d seen talent walk through his doors before, but rarely did he feel certain about someone. With Mira, he was.
He tapped the form against the desk thoughtfully. “We’ll see you again, Mira,” he muttered under his breath.
------
And Mira?
As she swung a leg over her Kawasaki later that evening, helmet tucked under one arm, she thought about the odd little session she’d just walked out of. Modeling. She’d laughed when Bobby first suggested it. But the camera hadn’t been as suffocating as she’d feared. It hadn’t even felt unnatural.
And the photographer... Zoey, was it? Had been a bundle of nervous chatter and quick smiles. Mira smirked faintly as she slid her helmet on. She’d enjoyed teasing her, maybe more than she should admit.
The engine roared to life beneath her. Thinking about the odd little session, bout the bubbly photographer with space buns and a laugh that spilled out unguarded.
She smirked faintly as she pulled into the street.
Modeling, huh? she thought. Weird. But maybe not the worst idea.
------
Back in the studio, Zoey sat hunched over her laptop, uploading files. She named the folder “Mira_Test_01.” Her mouse hovered over one particular frame, the smirk, the glint in those brown eyes. Something in her chest fluttered, unsettled but not unpleasant. She shook her head, laughing at herself. “Get a grip, Zo,” she muttered. “It’s just work.”
But as she closed the program, she knew it wasn’t just that.