"Alright, let's try something simple," Hatanaka called from behind his monitor. "Yoichi, put your arm around her waist. Ichika, lean into him."
The lights beat down. Sand stuck between Yoichi's toes. He placed his hand on Ichika's waist.
Click.
"Good, but..." Hatanaka frowned. "It looks like you're posing with a cardboard cutout, Ichika. Where's the connection? The romance?"
Ichika adjusted her pose, tilting her head at a more photogenic angle. Her smile brightened by exactly two degrees.
Click.
"Still not working," the photographer muttered.
Ichika's smile faltered. Her eyes darted toward the dressing room where Ai had disappeared. A bead of sweat rolled down her temple that wasn't from the hot lights.
Hatanaka sighed, checking his watch. "Let's reset."
The assistants rushed forward with water bottles and touch-up brushes. Ichika took a small step away from Yoichi, her shoulders tight.
"Sorry," she murmured, accepting a water bottle. "I'm not usually this stiff."
Yoichi studied her. The way she clutched the bottle too tightly. How her eyes kept flicking toward where Ai had been standing earlier. The slight tension in her jaw.
She's comparing herself to Ai.
The makeup artist dabbed powder on Ichika's forehead. "You're doing fine, honey. First swimsuit shoot is always nerve-wracking."
Ichika nodded, but her smile remained forced. When the assistants stepped back, Yoichi moved closer.
"Stop acting," he said quietly.
Her head snapped up. "What?"
"You're trying too hard." He took the water bottle from her hand, placing it on a nearby table. "You're not competing with anyone."
"Easy for you to say after your chemistry masterclass with Japan's top idol," Ichika whispered back, color rising in her cheeks.
"Places!" Hatanaka called. "Let's try this again!"
Yoichi took Ichika's hand, giving it a firm squeeze. "Just look at me. It's just us."
She blinked, surprised by the directness of his touch and words.
This time, when they took their position, Yoichi didn't wait for direction. He placed his hand on the small of Ichika's back, pulling her slightly closer than before. With his other hand, he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering on her cheek.
"Think about the elevator," he said softly.
Her eyes widened.
Click.
"Yes!" Hatanaka shouted. "That's it! Keep going!"
Emboldened, Yoichi continued making small adjustments - tilting her chin up with his finger, turning her slightly to catch the light better, keeping his touch constant but shifting between firm and gentle. He applied everything he'd observed from Ai, but made it his own.
Ichika followed his lead, surprised by his sudden competence.
How is he…
Click. Click. Click.
"This is fantastic!" The photographer circled them, capturing every angle.
After twenty minutes of increasingly natural poses, Hatanaka jumped up from his chair.
"We're getting gold, but I want platinum!" He snapped his fingers at his assistant. "Time for the money shots! Wardrobe change! Bring out the red two-piece for Ichika!"
Ichika's eyes widened. "The red one? That wasn't in the wardrobe options I approved."
"Last-minute addition," the assistant explained, already guiding her toward the changing area. "The director requested it specifically after seeing your chemistry."
Before she could protest further, Ichika was whisked away. Yoichi remained on set, using the break to mentally prepare for whatever came next. He knew enough about photoshoots now to understand "money shots" meant something more provocative.
Ten minutes later, a hush fell over the studio.
Ichika emerged from the changing area in a swimsuit that redefined the concept of "minimal." The vibrant crimson fabric contrasted sharply with her pale skin. The top was little more than strategic triangles held together by thin straps, while the bottom sat low on her hips, high on her thighs.
Yoichi maintained his neutral expression, but his pulse jumped. This wasn't the same girl who had dragged him from room to room in booty shorts yesterday.
This was a woman.
"Magnificent!" Hatanaka clapped his hands. "Absolute fire! Yoichi, your face is perfect—keep that intensity!"
Ichika reached the center of the set, stopping inches from Yoichi. "Hi," she said quietly.
"Hi," he replied, noticing how the red fabric made her eyes appear deeper blue.
"I know what you're thinking," she said under her breath.
"Do you?"
"You're wondering if I'm wearing this to compete with Ai."
His lips quirked slightly. "No. I was wondering if you're cold. The AC is blasting."
A surprised laugh escaped her.
"Okay, people!" Hatanaka circled them like an excited shark. "This is the cover shot! I want passion! I want heat! Yoichi, I want you to lift her. Ichika, wrap your legs around him. Like you're never letting go."
Ichika's confidence faltered. "Lift me? We never practiced that."
"Trust me," Yoichi said simply.
The photographer positioned himself. Assistants adjusted lights. The studio fell into expectant silence.
Ichika stepped close, placing her hands on Yoichi's shoulders. Her skin was warm under his palms as he gripped her waist.
"Ready?" he asked.
She nodded, her lower lip caught between her teeth.
In one fluid motion, he lifted her. Ichika wrapped her legs around his waist, her arms circling his neck. The position brought them flush against each other—her chest pressed to his, her face level with his, her thighs gripping his sides.
"Oh," she breathed, the sound barely audible.
Yoichi's hands slid naturally down her back to support her under her thighs. The skin there was impossibly soft.
Click. Click. Click.
"Perfect!" Hatanaka shouted. "Ichika, look at him like you want to devour him! Yes, like that!"
But Ichika wasn't listening to the director anymore. Something had shifted in her eyes. Her focus narrowed entirely to Yoichi, to the feeling of his hands on her bare skin, to the solid strength of his body against hers, to the heat building between them that had nothing to do with the studio lights.
All the confusing emotions of the past twenty-four hours crashed through her mind: finding him asleep with Miku, watching him connect so naturally with Ai, his possessive performance in the elevator, the way his fingers had traced patterns on her shoulder in the car.
Her fingers moved from his neck to his jaw, thumb stroking along the sharp line of it. His eyes widened slightly, recognizing that this wasn't part of the prescribed pose.
"Yoichi..." Her voice came out husky, almost a whisper.
Before he could respond, she pressed her lips to his.
This wasn't a performance kiss. This wasn't a chaste peck for the camera. This was raw, hungry, almost desperate. Her mouth moved against his with surprising confidence, her fingers sliding into his hair to hold him closer.
For one second, Yoichi didn't respond. Then instinct took over. His hand moved from her thigh to press against her ass, eliminating any remaining space between them. His lips parted, returning her kiss with equal intensity.
The rapid clicks of the camera faded into background noise. The director's excited shouting became meaningless sound. For that moment, nothing existed beyond the points where their bodies connected—lips, hands, skin against skin.
When they finally broke apart, both were breathing heavily. Ichika's cheeks were flushed pink, her lips slightly swollen. Yoichi's usually controlled expression had cracked open, revealing something raw and unguarded underneath.
The entire studio had fallen silent. The photographer slowly lowered his camera, eyes wide.
"We can't..." he said in an awed whisper. "We can't possibly use those."
His words broke the spell. Ichika's eyes widened as reality crashed back.
She had just kissed her step-brother in front of an entire crew.
On camera.
Hatanaka cleared his throat. "He's right. Way too risqué for the brand." He clapped his hands together. "But my god, the rest of the shots are magnificent! The chemistry is off the charts! We're done! That's a wrap on the couple shots!"
The crew burst into motion, breaking the moment. Assistants rushed forward with robes. The lighting team began dismantling equipment. Makeup artists packed their kits.
Slowly, Ichika unwrapped her legs from around Yoichi's waist. Her feet found the ground, but her hands remained on his shoulders, steadying herself. Her eyes never left his, searching for some reaction, some sign of what he was thinking.
Yoichi's face had returned to its usual mask, unreadable except for a single drop of sweat tracing a path down his temple.
"I..." she started, then stopped, unsure what to say. What could she say?
Sorry I kissed you? I'm not sorry I kissed you? I've been wanting to do that since I saw you with my sister?
"You won that round," Yoichi said finally, his voice low enough that only she could hear.
"Round?" she repeated, confused.
"The boyfriend act." His gray eyes held hers.
Ichika felt her stomach drop. "Right. The act."
He took a step back, putting proper distance between them. A wardrobe assistant approached with a robe for Ichika, breaking their moment completely.
"Ichika!" Hatanaka called from across the set. "You were magnificent! Let's talk about your solo shots next!"
She forced a smile, slipping into the robe. "Coming!"
As she turned to go, Yoichi caught her wrist. His fingers were warm against her pulse.
"Ichika."
She looked back at him, heart jumping into her throat.
"For the record," he said quietly, "I stopped acting the moment you kissed me."
He released her wrist and walked toward the dressing room, leaving her frozen in place, her mind reeling.
From the sidelines, Ichigo Saitou watched with narrowed eyes. His gaze tracked from Yoichi's retreating back to Ichika's flushed face, then to the closed door of Ai's dressing room.
"Interesting," he murmured, making a note in his phone before slipping out of the studio.
In her dressing room, Ai sat perfectly still, her makeup half-removed. Through the thin walls, she had heard the commotion on set, the director's excited shouts, the sudden silence.
She touched her fingertips to her lips, remembering the brief moment when Yoichi had caught her during their shoot.
"So that's how it is," she said to her reflection, a small smile playing on her lips.
Back on set, Ichika pressed her hand to her chest, feeling her heart race beneath her palm. The taste of Yoichi lingered on her lips as she tried to make sense of his parting words.
I stopped acting the moment you kissed me.
What did that mean for their agreement? For their living situation? For tomorrow, when they would have to face each other across the breakfast table with her sisters watching?
She didn't know. But as she walked toward Hatanaka for her solo session, one thought burned brighter than all the others:
Mine.