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You needed a model. Models. Desperately. You weren't unsuccessful in the industry, per se. You were a Zabini, which gained you immediate traction, but with an offer to photograph Rosier Rage boxers, you could actually get something _real_ going. Something that isn't attributed to your family name.

And Remus and Sirius were _right there_. They were models in their own rights, Sirius with his high cheekbones and Remus with his rough charm. You bothered them for weeks on end until they both gave in just to get you off their backs about it.

You wished they'd just said no.

It's apparently quite difficult to photograph two attractive individuals in nothing but Rosier Rage undergarments who are your close friends. Just friends. They were dating each other, for Merlin's sake! You direct them for poses, they obey, you photograph, you send in the photos, would you look at that? They got famous off the pictures, and you're their personal photographer.

What sweet hell.

Tours, photos, fans, not just of them, but of you, and snap after snap after snap. Now you're staying in a penthouse with the two idiots, waiting for their outfits to arrive for another shoot.

Despite them being the ones being photographed, you were knackered. Just one more shoot, you promised yourself again and again. And they noticed. Empaths and models. Lovely.

"Reckon we should cancel this next one," Sirius suggested offhandedly, Remus voicing his agreement.