Pompeii ➳ muke

seven

One lonely night turns into two and before Michael knows it, it's been five days since he's seen the blond haired beauty that is Luke.

He doesn't let it bother him too much, for the fact that he doesn't even know Luke. He had only spent a mere three hours with the boy. But even so, he finds himself wishing he had more time.

It's a Thursday afternoon when Michael gets a call from Wilde, which wakes him from a deep sleep.

"Michael, boy! Are you awake yet? There's a car out front of your house and I believe Ajax has been knocking on your door the past ten minutes," the manager states.

Michael groans, muttering a few cuss words before hastily kicking the white duvet off of his bare legs.

"Why is he even here?"

Wilde simply laughs, "Arcadia has a photoshoot in an hour, get yourself together and get moving."

And with that, Wilde hangs up the phone.

Michael dresses quickly, not caring what he puts on as he will redress once he's at the shoot. He fills his pockets with a few neccesary items before making his way out the front door. Ajax is stood on his front patio, but Michael blantly ignores him and walks directly to the black van. Inside, Tristan and Noah are playing Xbox on the built in television, shouting obscenities at the screen.

Once Ajax is inside as well, the driver starts the engine and drives to the location. Michael feels awkward having to be in such close quarters with Noah, after showing up on his front door step five days prior. The singer had knocked on the door for ten straight minutes before a half naked Noah answered the door, visibly flustered. He had brought a girl home from the venue and Michael was interrupting their evening.

Thankfully, Noah doesn't mention the mishap to anyone. Or maybe he's already told the others and doesn't want to embarrass Michael further. Either way, Michael feels mortified.

At the shoot, the boys are sat down in salon chairs and a stylist begins to work on each of them. Styling their hair, applying minimal makeup, and discussing their outfit choices.

After hair and make up, a new team of stylists brings their clothing and ushers them quickly into changing rooms. Michael is satisfied with the outfit he's been given, it suits him properly, he thinks. He sports black, torn skinny jeans, a black and grey flannel rolled to a quarter sleeve, a plain black under shirt, and boots.

Unsurprisingly, the others are dressed slightly similar. Stylists often do that, wanting them to look as if they belong together. And as long as they look well enough, they surely don't mind.

They finish dressing and are lead into the main studio. The photographer from Rock Sound is already waiting for them. He's roughly in his thirties, his arms are covered in intricate tattoos and the boys automatically decide that they like him.

The shoot lasts an hour, which is a usual run time, and Wilde thanks the photographer a few too many times.

Wilde is like that, very appreciative.

It's an admirable attribute, Michael thinks so and wishes he could be the very same.

"Are you boys hungry? Let's go out for lunch," Wilde suggests as they all enter the black van once again.

The manager instructs their driver on where to go as he navigates through the city streets.