Shiina Kisaragi's POV:
Asking me to be his model out of the blue was the trigger that brought us closer together. As a girl with boundless insecurities and self-doubt, his fixation was bewildering from the get-go. The parts of me I hated—that I wished I could do away with—he adored.
To him, I was his 'goddess'. Worthy of admiration, reverence; somebody to be held in the highest regard.
There was a period where he tailed me like a devoted servant, complimenting even the manner in which I breathed (granted, that had caused plentiful head turns, and I beseeched him to tone it down a notch or ten). He was protective of me and was the first to defend my honour. Although the public generally regarded his personality as overbearing and suffocating, for the most part, I found it loveable. With one glance alone, my peers found plenty to ridicule me about, but upon our first encounter, he found copious of other things to love—things, he never thought twice about expressing to me. For people to find that side of him to be deplorable never made sense to me.
He had a plethora of other amazing sides.
"Banri, haven't you taken enough photos?"
"A few more, Kisa. Turn this way."
I complied, pivoting to give him a better glimpse of my attire.
I'd become his part-time model (unofficially).
Banri was a gifted fashion designer and stylist, and the co-founder of the 'Beautician Boyz', a group of (handsome) beauty gurus. His efforts caught the attention of a bigwig in the fashion industry, Noir Nakatani, where he was even offered an internship. Although that offer had fallen through, the BB's feats garnered ample attention across Japan. They regularly got involved with celebrities, were featured in countless magazines, articles, interviews, and hosted occasional fashion shows at Hoshizaki.
I partook in one of them where I got to know him and few of the other members quite well. Since, Banri insisted on coordinating my outfits for me, but it wasn't until we started dating that it became a reality. I sometimes wore the clothes he designed for his BB work or in his free time. At first, I held some reservations, but I was weak to compliments (which he, ironically, was full of). These photos were solely for his own reference and were never shared, which made things better.
Today, I'd visited his house and had been trying on outfits for hours now.
"Are all these really necessary?" I asked, sensing an oncoming blush. I didn't mind the whole process, and the clothes themselves were cute and well within my comfort-range, but after all, having his undivided attention like this only made me self-conscious.
The shutter for the camera went off, positioned directly at my face, and not the ensemble.
I pursed my mouth.
"Okay. That last one was unessential."
Banri lowered the camera and allowed it to hang at his chest by the straps. Per usual, he was dazzling. Sometimes, I couldn't wrap my head around the fact that somebody could be so handsome, and that this somebody was my boyfriend. His fashion sense was impeccable, which was a given since he designed all of his clothes. Undoubtedly, he was out of my league. Yet, habitually, he insisted it was the opposite.
"Correction," he said, flashing me a flawless grin. "All photos of you are essential."
His eyes sparkled as he hugged it near.
"I'll frame them all."
"That's creepy. I don't want my face plastered all over your room."
"Then, I'll make an altar dedicated to you."
"Creepier."
"A private collection only I can admire and revel in your beauty?"
"Don't you get tired of complimenting—"
"No! Never! Next question?"
I laughed.
Beauty—his favourite word—was a term I certainly wouldn't have correlated with myself previously, yet it was one he flung at me left and right. With no hesitation, and constantly, he bestowed me unlimited praise and confidence.
Even now, my surroundings were difficult to digest. For a mere bedroom, its size was staggering. Everything from the king-sized bed to the dressers and carpet exuded wealth. It also exemplified Banri's preferences and personality to a T. The colours and designs screamed hand-picked by him. Truthfully, the first time I visited his house, the shock left me floundering by the front gates. Considering his parents and older sisters were all professional models, his wealthy upbringing was expected. Nonetheless, it was difficult to absorb taking into account his humble personality. I met his whole family, and yeah, they were the charitable type who didn't dwell on status and affluence.
After Banri spouted poetic verses about how dearly he loved me (which was never-ending at this point), I ducked into the adjacent bathroom for the safety of my racing heart. I gathered my jeans and sweater to change back into then momentarily paused to commend the dress I had on in the mirror. Normally, I wasn't the skirt or dress type. Mainly because I felt I could never do them justice. But, for some reason, the ones he made for me made me feel cute. They fit snugly and rarely had to be adjusted, too.
On a surface level, how impeccably he'd memorized my body measurements was freaky. Then again, Banri was the biggest perfectionist. So long as he set his mind on something, he pursued it to the point of excellence.
I'd never forget the time he had a nervous breakdown when I pointed out that a button on his school blazer had fallen off. He fell to his knees and everything, cursing his negligence and claiming he couldn't be seen in public.
Its intensity reminded of Death the Kid's obsession with symmetry, and despite it being a definite flaw of his, I guiltily loved that side of him anyway.
I steadied my irregular heartbeat to the best of my ability.
Being 'in love' was still very new to me. The giddiness, fuzziness, euphoria. There was a lot to get used to. Our relationship being far from conventional added its own complications.
It had taken Banri ages to accept the prospect that I could ever love love him. I outright confessed to him, too! He was dense in the weirdest ways. Unbelievably dense.
Burying the complicated emotions bubbling to the surface, I reached for the zipper at my back. However, despite my tugs, it didn't budge.
Great.
I nudged open the door.
"Um, Banri?" I approached him at his bed. "The zipper's stuck. Can you get it for me?"
I twisted around so that my back faced him, and motioned toward it.
"You're. . . asking me to undress you, Kisa?"
"Banri?"
His shaking was beyond concerning.
"A-a servant like me shouldn't be in direct contact with such lush, smooth skin. How will I ever wash the sin off my hands?"
I deadpanned. Parted my hair to the side to allow him adequate leeway. "Just undo the zipper."
"Yes! I'll take responsibility!"
"That isn't necessary!"
My pulse raced exponentially. All at once, my every breath, the twitch of his arm, added to my bashfulness. Did he have to be so extra? Now, I was nervous.
"You realize we're dating, don't you?" I murmured to distract myself from the sensation of his fingers against my back, albeit above the fabric. His other hand gingerly unfastened my clothes. "I'm not some holy, sacred being. You can. . . t-touch me all you want."
What was I saying?
Calm down, me.
Although part of me demanded I be clearer and avoid a misunderstanding, the frustration I'd buried these last two months restricted my vocal cords. My heartbeat stuttered firmly and deafeningly in my ears. All the blood in my body rushed to my cheeks.
Why wasn't he responding?
Say something at least!
Right as I mustered the strength to turn and gauge his reaction, his bedroom door flung open.
"Hey! I'm ordering takeout, have any suggestions?"
Tomoko, Banri's older sister, screeched to a standstill.
She blinked twice then gaped in considerable, shell-shocked disbelief.
It was understandable why: because of Banri, my dress was halfway down my shoulders—the sole thing keeping it in tact being the grip I held it at my chest.
"Banri. Shiina. Let's have a chat."