by Coreopsis
Kevin felt like such a fuckin' tool. "Put your hands on the wall and look
intense," they said. Well hell, all he'd done was turn his head and someone
had yelled "Perfect!" If that's all they needed, this would be easy. He
could stand around and glare at the camera all damn day if he had to. He
didn't have to pretend to be having a good time, didn't have to pretend he
was happy.
Not like those jokers who'd glare at him and yell, "Hey, you with the eyebrows. Smile, damn it." He'd bare his teeth and they'd blink and mumble amongst themselves. And then they'd try to sweet talk him into smiling, but that made him feel like an even bigger tool. They had Nick for the big sunny grins, Brian for the sweet little smiles, and Howie for the big-eyed soulful thing. AJ could growl and snarl because he was the rebel, so what did that leave Kevin? Being the serious one. Intensity.
Whatever. He wasn't exactly trying for intensity. He was thinking about what a fucking tool he was, and how incredibly fucking hot AJ was looking, over there hitting on one of the photographer's assistants. And how utterly ridiculous that he was just his guy from Kentucky who loved to sing and play the piano and here he was wearing makeup and standing next to a silver wall, surrounded by lights being stared at by a dozen people, over half of whom probably don't even know his name.
He was thinking about how pretty Nick looked today all dressed up, and how wrong it was for him to even notice. He was thinking that they needed to get Howie a girlfriend pretty damn quick before people started wondering about him. He noticed that Brian looked more tired than he should, and if this thing wasn't over soon, Kevin would end it himself. Brian's health was more important than getting a couple dozen more shots of them looking like tools.
And if all that made him look intense, well...whatever worked.
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