The cameraman hunches over the toilet, his dark hair framing a face half-hidden by a hand, fingers tracing his own lips as he leans back with the other, palm pressed to his forehead. His purple shirt clings as he shifts, reaching between his legs with deliberate slowness, the porcelain rim visible in every angle. The shot lingers on the tension of his posture, the way his body bends just enough to expose what he’s doing, no camera needed.
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