Ronan was only now truly realizing just how tough a model's job could be. It wasn't just hard work—it required talent and professionalism too.
"How am I supposed to pose in front of the camera?"
In his past life, as a rising young singer, Ronan had done interviews and photo shoots. But back then, it was the peak of the new media boom. The vibe was casual, approachable, and tied to social media trends. Most of the photos were selfie-style shots typical of younger people. He'd never done a proper "hard photo" shoot before.
He'd only imagined it in his head, thinking it didn't seem that difficult. But now, standing in front of a camera as a professional model—not just snapping funny, cute, or cool selfies—he understood the challenge. Sure, selfies were an art of their own, but hard photos demanded depth and texture in a flat image.
That's when Ronan started to feel the struggle—
How should he stand? Where should his feet and hands go? How much should he puff out his chest or lift his head? What kind of pose would look good, maybe even cool? And then there were his expressions and eyes—how should he smile? Where should he look? How could he get into the right mindset?
What did "lift your chin slightly" even mean—how slight was "slightly"? What about "open up your body a bit"—could someone define "open"? Or "make your eyes more natural"—it's not like he was trying to be unnatural! And "harden your expression"—was that code for rolling up his sleeves and starting a fight?
One pose, two poses—no problem. Three or four—he could still manage. But five, six, seven poses? Suddenly, he had no idea what to do with his hands or feet. Even the basics of standing felt forgotten, leaving him totally lost.
Worse yet, his movements were stiff, his face blank. He felt like a lifeless, soulless zombie in front of the lens.
Sure, if he could stiffen up with some flair—adding a spark to his eyes or expression—it might work as a unique style. But when the stiffness turned awkward and clumsy, with every inch of him screaming discomfort, it just didn't cut it. At that point, they might as well use a life-sized cardboard cutout of him instead.
"Look at the camera. Imagine you're talking to it, like you're performing for an audience—the lens is your crowd."
Alice was guiding Ronan to face the camera, but his movements still felt rigid and clumsy. His eyes betrayed a clear panic, like he was silently begging for help:
How do I pose? How do I pose? How do I pose?
Alice didn't hold back. She burst out laughing. "You look like a broken Barbie doll—I mean Ken, a Ken doll." (Barbie's boyfriend is Ken, after all.) Ronan's helpless expression only made it funnier. "Focus on the camera. Forget about posing for now."
She'd noticed that "posing" was like a strict assignment for Ronan—a rigid frame he kept trying to squeeze himself into. The problem was, his mental library of poses was pretty limited. He couldn't find the right ones, and over time, he just froze up, unsure where to put his hands or feet.
So, step one: forget about posing.
"Forget posing? Then what do I do?" Ronan finally broke his silence, standing stiffly in front of the camera, staring at Alice with a head full of question marks. "I can't just stand here like an idiot, can I?"
"Why not?" Alice shot back without missing a beat. "Who says you have to pose for a photo? The whole point of photography is to capture a fleeting moment and make it last forever. Why does it have to involve posing?"
"…" Ronan blinked, feeling like this was some twisted logic but unsure how to argue back. His brain was too busy with the photo shoot to keep up.
Alice pressed on. "Just picture a scenario and step into it—like you're performing on stage. It's the same thing. Say you're doing an interview with Rolling Stone this afternoon, but now you've got to handle your own photos. How's that feel?"
"Like I've been scammed." The words slipped out before he could stop them. But as soon as he said it, Ronan burst into cheerful laughter, waving at Wyatt. "I'm kidding, I'm kidding!"
Click.
Wyatt didn't care. His finger hit the shutter in rapid succession, catching Ronan mid-laugh, waving at the camera. The smile in his eyes spilled over naturally.
Ronan noticed the shutter sound and immediately panicked, eyes widening. "Wait, that works? That's not okay, right? That's not cool at all! I don't look handsome like this. Wyatt, are we sure we shouldn't keep posing? I feel like these shots won't turn out well."
"So, what, you want to go back to being a Ken doll?" Maxim's teasing voice cut in from the side. Ollie and Cliff cracked up too.
Ronan turned to them, exasperated. "Are you guys seriously doing this? Just remember—I'm only the second one to shoot."
"Oh, come on, Ronan, don't be like that! We haven't done anything, have we?" Cliff waved his hands defensively, but Ollie kept howling with laughter. The booming sound startled birds from the treetops and even sent ripples through the pool water nearby.
Wyatt jumped, his heart skipping a beat, but his photographer instincts kicked in. He quickly aimed the camera at the bandmates, snapping shots of Ronan "facing off" with his three teammates. The lively scene practically leaped off the frame.
By now, Wyatt was starting to figure things out.
Ronan wasn't made for still photography. The frozen moments of a shutter rarely captured the life in his expressions—often, he just looked stiff and flat. His inexperience and awkwardness only made it worse. But take him out of that posing framework, and he came alive. His energy overflowed, a vibrant, intense emotion that almost burst through the lens.
So, Wyatt needed to shake things up and get Ronan moving—that's what Alice was doing too.
In stark contrast, there was Maxim.
It's not that Maxim looked bad in motion—far from it. He knew his strengths and how to play with light and shadow. The camera effortlessly caught his deep, chiseled features, like a Greek statue. Every frozen moment was stunning.
Maxim was photogenic in a way the camera loved. Photos, though, struggled to capture even a tenth of Ronan's charm—a small pity.
So, what about Ollie and Cliff?
Wyatt glanced down at the makeshift lighting board and the sloppy setup, realizing his options were limited.
Feeling utterly defeated, he wondered—how had he gotten himself into this mess?