#got an appointment tomorrow afternoon but i think tomorrow morning will be a photography morning! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

theretirementstory · 3 months

Text

Greetings from a freezing cold Bar-sur-Aube, it’s -5c and we may reach the balmy heights of 1c later today. It has been very cold all week so I don’t feel as if I have done very much at all but I will let you judge.

To warm me up, let’s have a look at the songs I have chosen this week. The first song is “Higher Love” by Steve Winwood from 1982 and the second one “Ain’t Nobody” by Rufus and Chaka Khan from 1983. Hard to believe that these songs are over 40 years old 😳. I have given my heart and lungs a workout singing and dancing along to the tunes.

So one lot of checks have been returned OK for “The Ex-Graduates” new job, she is going next week for “the vetting” process and then it shouldn’t be too much longer before she starts the job. How exciting!

“The Trainee Solicitor” is working like a Trojan. His boss has been out of the office for quite a few days so far this year and has left the workload to him. That’s fine until you hit a problem but I am sure we all know this is “normal” worklife (unfortunately).

Working from home is to be the new norm for “The Photographer” unfortunately it’s not in the field of photography (at the moment). It seems that he has enjoyed just moving from one room to another to start his work, likes that a break means he can go into the kitchen in his home to get a drink and an hours lunch starts prompt at the allotted time (something which doesn’t happen when you are dealing with customers face to face). It’s early days but having a couple of hours travelling time given back to you is something and he can use that time for shopping, appointments or going to the gym.

My granddaughter FaceTimed me this morning without her Daddy being in the room so it was a surprise for him when he heard her talking to me. Her little brother is on penicillium medicine as he has an ear infection. He was in the kitchen with Grandad but came through to have a chat with me. They were at the cinema yesterday to see the Disney film “Wish” and are going out today to see butterflies and aquatic creatures. My granddaughter ended the call saying “bye I will ring you tomorrow “ 😂😂.

Now my week, the cleaner has been, returning to her two days a week. I don’t think the house really warrants 4 hours cleaning per week but she does move furniture to clean underneath, wash windows as well as dust, vacuum and wash floors so I can’t complain. Then I had my appointment with the oncologist. He had my blood test results and I was sad that things were not as good as they could have been with a couple of areas of concern. I came away with a prescription for five days of injections to boost my white cells and was told to have fortnightly blood tests now too. Well nothing I can do about it just got to wait for the next round of blood test results.

I was fortunate on Tuesday that I went into town to the pharmacy in the morning as in the afternoon it SNOWED! I have arranged with the nurse to come in for the next five days to give me my injections also arranged for them to come to do blood test on 22/1.

My cousin, in London, had her birthday this week. I had posted her card last week, however I went online and arranged a small hamper of 4 saffron buns, 1 pack of Cornish Faring biscuits, 1 pack of Cornish clotted cream shortbread and a box of Cornish Black tea although it didn’t arrive on her birthday it arrived the following day.

I also took the opportunity to order more books for myself, although I am back to knitting and crochet I like to read before I go to sleep.

It was the week for the knitting group and as the weather had turned so cold I couldn’t decide whether to go or not. Anyway after exchanging a few messages with Claudine I decided to go. I have been crocheting something which does resemble a scarf and as I have plenty of this wool I can make it quite long. I had also found a book of knitting patterns for children’s clothes, however the instructions are in French. I have decided that I am going to knit a cardigan from the book and I cast it on. I am enjoying knitting something different, a different pattern but one that is easy to do. Let’s hope it continues as easy as this is at the moment.

I knew that I had to get over my fear of rats and mice which may be lurking in the compost. So far I had been brave enough to go and put my vegetable peelings in there but as far as turning the compost went, it hadn’t been done for months with the result that the peelings were just sitting on top of the other matter. I plucked up courage to go out into the freezing cold (dressed like Nanook Of The North) armed with my twisty thing and a garden fork. I was working quite well then decided to use the garden fork, now this meant removing part of the front of the composter and I was sure I would see something staring at me, but no, not a thing and I was rather pleased with the result. I feel ready to maybe do this job once a week to oxygenate the pile and get it “working”. I have previously been told that you will know if rats are in the bin as you will smell ammonia (apparently rats urinate a lot) whether this is true or false whenever I open the composter I take a good sniff.

I have had messages from Monique, Pauline (in Barcelona), have messaged Anie (who should have returned from Indonesia this week) and Maud (no reply from these two) plus have been in contact with Sarah, Denise (a lady from the old knitting group) and friends in the UK.

I do so love January here in France. If you employ people to work in your home (gardener, cleaning lady in my case) you can claim money back on your tax. The tax office usually give you an advance in January and my notification came through this week. Also, I pay my energy by direct debit and I did increase my payments (as instructed) in September. Now I only pay 11 months of the year, get my invoice showing all the details of usage, payments etc in January and any overpayment is refunded directly. Imagine my surprise when I was informed I had overpaid so would be refunded. I have my heating on extra hours a day and still get a refund 😁.

Today is the Fete sans Frontiere in town and normally I would be going. However, as I still want to keep safe due to low immunity, it seems silly to go into a hall with well over 100 people and remove my mask to eat. Also they ask that you take a dish with you for sharing. These are then laid out and people are called up to go and collect food. Now 1) you don’t how hygienic the preparation of the food may be, 2) fingers could have touched the food that is laid out, had hands been washed say after using the toilet, 3) coughs and sneezes spread diseases and no matter what, someone could cough or sneeze while in the queue, not everyone carries sanitiser! No I don’t want to be among that, not when I (feel) I have managed to steer clear of any infection so far. So I guess I will stay at home, in the warm, and do some knitting or crochet.

I feels like coffee time now, I am also trying to get into the habit of having a piece of fruit mid-morning and mid-afternoon. It cuts down on munching on biscuits and enables me to have my five-a-day. I baked a quiche yesterday so I will be having quiche with something healthy this lunchtime.

So I will wish you all a very good week until next week.

#barsuraube #nature #photography #baking #knitting #reading #livingthedream #trees #friends #family #80’s music

3 notes · View notes

braincoins · 5 years

Text

Finding convenient places to teleport to and from was a hassle sometimes, but if he hadn’t, he wouldn’t have made it to Civic Square Center on time. As it was, he was jogging up to Lance at 1:30 on the dot. “I’m here! Sorry, my appointment took longer than I was expecting!”

“No worries,” Lance said. “Did you get lunch yet?”

Shiro grinned. “Lance, I’m flattered, but I’m dating Allura.”

He barked a laugh. “You just wanted an excuse to say that out loud, didn’t you?”

“100%. Wouldn’t you?”

“Point,” Lance conceded. “But seriously, did you eat or were you at your appointment the whole time?”

“They’ll have food here,” he said. “Where’s your camera?”

“Right here!” Lance said, waving his phone.

Shiro frowned. “Does that really take good enough pictures for print?”

“On its own? Nah, not really,” he said, shaking his head. “But when I add this little baby,” he pulled out some sort of lens attachment and clipped it onto his phone, “then You Bet Your Ass it does!”

Shiro’s skepticism must have shown on his face (he certainly wasn’t doing anything to hide it).

“Seriously, just trust me. I use this all the time. I have special apps and everything.”

“I just don’t want this looking like someone’s Snapchat story.”

“It won’t, O Ye Of Little Faith.”

Lance was pretty confident in it, so Shiro shrugged and accepted it. Not like they had time - or money - to go buy Lance an actual camera at this point. “Okay, I want to talk to some of the vendors setting up,” he said. “Maybe see if we can...”

“This is the event manager,” Lance said, holding out his phone to show him a picture. “Richard DeVos. I tried calling ahead to see if we could snag a set time to talk with him, but no one was answering at his office.”

“Nice work though,” Shiro said. “Honestly, I... probably should have been the one doing that. Guess I let my bitterness get in the way of my professionalism.”

Lance shrugged. “I am a man of many talents,” he replied casually. “And from what Ms. Fala’s said, so are you.”

Shiro blushed. “Okay, you can shut up now,” he told him without much heat in it.

Lance just snickered. “Right, this is Serious Work Time. At the flower festival.”

They wandered in, flashing press passes to get past security. There were vendors setting up carts of fresh tulips, some picked and in bouquets while others were in pots. Everyone had signs up advising you to “Sign Up Now For Fall Bulbs!” Occasional gardening vendors selling equipment and advice. Worm farmers (”That’s a thing?” Lance asked. “Do they have like... herds of worms? Do they stampede? Can you imagine a worm stampede? Like all the pasta you ever ate coming back to get you!”). Competing smells of tulips, popcorn, and cookies.

Shiro dutifully stopped and talked with people. Each one of them praised their own secret methods - which they refused to divulge of course, except for one person who enigmatically whispered, “Eggshells!” - and pooh-poohed the efforts of some of the others. Like any group of people, there was drama and in-fighting amongst them, but nothing newsworthy.

The show opened to the public and was surprisingly busy. People brought small children in with them. “Do they think the kids are interested in tulips?” Lance wondered.

“They think it’s a free event that has snacks and will get them out of the apartment for a few hours,” Shiro told him.

Lance laughed. “Good point!”

The snacks were mostly popcorn and cookies shaped like tulips, though Shiro did find a cart with Dutch pastries, snagging some banket and a coffee for himself. Not much of a lunch, but better than popcorn.

There were presentations on the history of tulips and on best growing practices, both of which Shiro and Lance had to struggle to stay awake through (Lance went back for more coffee and some krakelingen this time). And they did, finally, manage to snag some time with Mr. DeVos, who was happy the local press was taking an interest and would have gone on about the history of the Tulip Festival - “Now in its 26th glorious year!” - for hours if his assistant hadn’t reminded him of the Best in Show contest that he was a judge for.

Mrs. Colbright won Best in Show for her Prinses Irene tulips, and Shiro made sure to get an interview with her while Lance snapped photo after photo of the prizewinner.

They were there for four hours and Shiro yawned as they came out. “Well, we survived. How’re the pictures looking?”

“See for yourself.” Lance snapped the lens off his phone and passed it over.

Shiro was properly amazed: the pictures were crisp - save for a few that were obviously deliberately soft-focused - the colors were vibrant, the lighting was perfect. People’s faces looked vivid, and there was even video of the interview with Mr. DeVos.

“Wow, these are great!”

“I told you,” Lance said. “I even got some of the pastries and coffee, as well as the tulip cookies. So people know what they missed out on.”

Shiro grinned as he handed the phone back. “You’re a hell of a photographer. You ever thought of doing it full-time?”

Lance shrugged. “I prefer doing my pop culture column; photography’s really just a hobby.”

“Hell, you should pick up side work for some of the P.I.’s,” Shiro told him. “If you don’t mind long-distance shots of people cheating on their spouses.”

“You mean paid voyeur, basically?” Lance laughed. “Not gonna lie, sometimes I look at my bills and consider it.”

Shiro snorted. “You heading back to the office?”

“Yeah, easier to format it on the work computer than do it at home and send it in.”

“I’ll come with. I gotta get this copy written for tomorrow.” He headed towards the subway station. “But seriously, push Allura to let you do more photojournalism.”

“Eh, I’m not sure if ‘pushing’ her is a good idea. I mean, she’s my boss, and...”

“Push her,” he insisted. “She respects people who stick up for themselves and their ideas. I mean, she might grump at you about it a bit, but...”

“Isn’t that your girlfriend you’re talking about?” he asked with a laugh.

Shiro grinned. “She was my editor for a long time. Trust me.”

“Well... I had been thinking about trying to get some Paladin and Starlight shots, if possible.”

“Those’d be huge,” Shiro agreed, trying to sound neutral. “If you could find the two of them.”

“Yeah, that’s the problem. Ms. Fala was able to get that one interview, but nothing since then. ‘Course, she’s been stuck in the office most of the time. Lotor keeps asking her for stuff, and...well, he watches her like a hawk.”

Shiro’s mouth twisted. “Don’t remind me.”

“You think he’s giving you puff pieces ‘cause he’s pissed you’re dating her?”

“Possibly.” He thought that was part of it, but he couldn’t get into the other reasons with Lance.

“Well, he gives me the creeps. Though I am dying to know what styling products he uses.”

Shiro laughed out loud as they entered the station. Okay, so the morning had been unsettling and the afternoon boring, but at least the day wasn’t a total wash: Lance was fun to hang out with and he’d gotten some quick make-out time with Allura. Just gotta get this copy written and then it’s on to the night job.

{The Adventures of Starlight & Paladin}

#Starlight/Paladin #Arc 2 #Shallura #Socks writes Voltron fanfic #see everything is nice and fun and light #just a normal day for Shiro #with smooches and tulips and unsettling news about his Galra prosthetic

29 notes · View notes

pongpalace · 6 years

Text

it’s a word, not a sentence (chapter 1/2)

jack zimmermann x eric “bitty” bittle, alternative meeting, photographer jack, single parent bitty, terminally ill child character

inspired by that one tumblr comic

Jack’s had a long day.

Most of his morning was spent arguing with a client who didn’t like the way her daughter’s birth pictures turned out because Jack didn’t photoshop out the redness in the newborn’s cheeks to make her look as doll-like as possible. Then he had what had to be the longest photoshoot he’s ever had because the dad thought that one photography class at Micheal’s made him an expert on how to light Jack’s set and would make changes as he saw fit. Bouncing between trying to keep the eight-year-old’s attention so he wouldn’t strip naked—again—and fixing what the dad did without outright calling the man an idiot was exhausting and because of it, Jack worked through his lunch to edit the pictures he needed for the magazine shoot he’d done weeks before. He wasn’t happy with the results so in between his afternoon sessions, he’d open up his laptop and poke at it right up until he needed to send them off to the editor.

Squinting at his computer screen, adjusting colour balances and saturations made Jack more tired than being behind the camera so he’s feeling the long day now that he’s sat down at the front desk, without anyone else to worry about in the studio. He should be answering emails and double checking he has all the backgrounds and costumes he’ll need for his big pregnancy shoot tomorrow morning but Jack can’t bring himself to do more than stare at the clock as it counts down the fifteen minutes until he locks the door and gets to go home.

It’s a testament to how tired Jack is because he watches the clock for five whole minutes before he remembers that he’s his own boss and he technically can close his own photography studio any time he wants and no one will yell at him.

He’s just pushed himself out of his chair when the bell above the door rings, signalling someone coming in. Jack bites back a curse, but he can feel the glare on his face when he looks at the blond man and his son who just came in, bundled in their winter jackets and stomping off snow that must’ve come down sometime in the last hour.

The man approaches the front desk. “Hello, um, I know it’s almost closing time, but I have a really big favour to ask,” he says.

Jack stares for a beat, vaguely wondering what someone with a southern accent is doing this far north, in the middle of a Boston winter no less. The man colours under Jack’s stare, wrinkling his nose and in any other setting, Jack might’ve found him more than a little attractive considering his messy blond hair, freckles, and big, dark brown eyes check off everything on Jack’s list. As it is, it’s been a long day and Jack wants to go home.

“Any inquiries about bookings or appointments are usually better done over the phone, during the day,” Jack says, giving the standard response to walk-in clients and letting his voice fall flat. He doesn’t mention that the current waiting list for a shoot is at least six months.

The man winces. “Yeah, I um, I know that. I saw your website.” He pauses and looks around the studio, taking in the wall that showcases the portraits Jack’s most proud of, the series of geese postcards that Jack worked on with Lardo, and the vintage camera equipment that he has on display because it makes him happy to look at.

The man bites at his lip while he looks at the wall, and Jack is about to remind him of the studio’s hours, but then the kid peaks out from behind their dad’s legs and Jack’s heart goes into his throat.

He’s going to be staying a little bit longer.

The kid is small. His puffy jacket hangs off a thin frame, hands lost in the too-long sleeves, though he keeps pushing one up so he can hold onto his dad’s hand. He wears a bright red toque, pulled all the way down his forehead. No hair peaks out from underneath, but Jack doesn’t think it’s because they’ve tucked it up into the knit fabric. The boy and man have the same big brown eyes, matching all the way down the deep bruises underneath, though the boy’s might be a shade darker. There’s a tube taped to the boy’s cheek, feeding into his nose, the other end tucked around up into his hat before it disappears into his collar. It’s clear that the boy is very sick.

The man clears his throat, and Jack guiltily looks up from where he knows he’s been caught staring.

“Gavin saw your postcards in the hospital gift shop,” the man says. “He loves geese.” Gavin looks up and smiles big at his name, nodding as much as he can without dislodging the tube. He unzips his jacket and Jack’s heart clenches to see that he was wearing a big hoodie underneath the jacket and still looks so tiny. Gavin shoves his hands into the hoodie pocket and pulls out a folded piece of cardstock. He unfolds it carefully before standing on his tiptoes to reach the counter and push it towards Jack.

“The babies are the best,” Gavin says. His voice is rougher than any child’s voice should be, sounding like it hurts him to talk, but he’s smiling the whole time Jack looks at one of his postcards. It was one of the last shots he got that day, after having crouched in goose shit for hours to get pictures of the adults interacting, he managed get a shot of a gosling using the toe of his dirty yellow runner as a pillow.

“Yeah,” Jack says softly, looking at where he has it posted on the wall across from him. Gavin follows his gaze, grin widening when he sees it, tugging at his dad’s jacket to point it out.

“The woman who works there says you had other things up in the hospital so on one of our good days, we went on a search and found some of your other pictures.” The man swings back around once he looks where Gavin wants.

“I like the unicorn,” Gavin says, again standing on his toes to see over the desk. He stretches to take his postcard back, almost losing his balance, but the man steadies him with a hand on his back easily.

Jack can’t think of a picture session he’s done with a unicorn, or even with the unicorn background he has, but most of what he’s given to hospitals are the landscape photography that he was really focused on while working towards opening his own studio.

“There’s a picture of a horse near the cancer ward and the shadow makes it look like a unicorn,” the man explains, smiling down at Gavin. He puts a hand on Gavin’s head and gently tugs at the toque, huffing a laugh when Gavin bats him away. He steps a little closer to Jack’s, voice lowering as he continues. “Look, I did go on your website and check for appointments and I know that y’all are booked solid for the next six months or so but-” His voice breaks. Jack’s stomach drops; six months might be too long for Gavin to wait for an appointment.

Jack looks around his desk, searching for the box of tissues he knows he keeps now that everyone has the sniffles in the cold weather. He finds them and passes the box over to the man, who takes a couple to press roughly to his eyes. Gavin reaches up and pulls on the man’s elbow until he drops his hand so Gavin can reach it. Gavin takes it and the man lets out a water breath.

Jack clears his throat, once, twice, to get past the lump he’s suddenly developed. He probably needs a tissue of his own but he blinks rapidly instead.

“Well, luckily, there’s a special promotion going on for people with these postcards,” Jack says, talking through the hoarseness in his voice that always comes when he’s feeling emotional. He leans forward over the desk to pass the postcard back to Gavin. Gavin takes it, looking up at his dad with big eyes. “I’ve been waiting all day to take pictures of someone who has one.”

“You have?” Gavin asks. He bites at very chapped lips, brow furrowed like he’s trying to figure Jack out. The directness of his stare is startling, his eyes the brightest point amongst the purples and blues of deep bruises and sharp cheekbones that don’t belong on a child’s face.

“I have.” Jack nods. “Now why don’t you take your dad back there,” Jack points over his shoulder, towards the studio he uses for kids’ portraits. “and I’ll meet you there to pick out what you want to wear in a second.”

There’s an entire wardrobe of different sized costumes, ranging from princesses to hockey players to doctors and everything in between that goes along with his extensive collection of backgrounds. It’s not as organized as it usually is when he has a session with a kid, but Jack’s more than happy to let Gavin go and chose what he wants. He might not get many more chances.

Jack locks the door while Gavin takes the man’s arm and leads him to the doorway. He’s chatting a mile a minute to his dad, but the dull roaring in Jack’s ears means he doesn’t catch any of it as he flips the lock so they’re not interrupted. He rests his forehead on the cool glass of the door, breathing in and out and in and out, while he takes a minute to compose himself. He’s not sure his bursting into tears would be productive for anyone tonight.

“Thanks for doing this.”

Jack jumps, knocking his head against the glass at the voice. He turns, feeling guilty for some reason, to see just the man leaning out of the studio doorway, eyes big with a concern Jack doesn’t feel like he deserves. He steps into the hallway.

“I’ll be right there, sorry,” Jack says, rubbing his forehead. The skin is warm to the touch, even after being pressed against the cool glass and Jack hopes he didn’t lose track of time.

“You’re apologizing for me scaring you on top of making you stay late?” The man raises a blond eyebrow.

“Er, yeah?” Jack says. He drops his hand from his forehead, and hopes he doesn’t look as stupid as he feels. The man came in here with his obviously very sick child and Jack is the one who can’t keep it together.

The man shakes his head, looking more bemused than annoyed. “Well, thank you. Seriously. This is gonna be the highlight of Gavin’s year.” He’s still smiling when he finishes, but it looks a little pinched around the edges.

“Uh,” Jack clears his throat. “Of course.” He stares at the man and the man stares back.

“I’m Eric, by the way,” the man says, suddenly. “If you wanna know who’s extended your work day.” Eric chuckles slightly, a little self-deprecating.

“Jack,” Jack replies, taking the hand Eric offers. His palm is dry but warm and a little rough. He squeezes Jack’s hands for a beat before letting go.

“Yeah,” Eric says and Jack flushes, realizing Eric must’ve known his name right from the start if he’d been able to google his website.

“Right.” Jack nods. “Er, should we?” He gestures back over Eric’s shoulder, following when Eric steps back inside the studio.

In the studio, Gavin’s found the building blocks on the low table in the corner. He’s still wearing his jacket, but he’s pushed the sleeves up to his elbows. Despite all the time Jack spends around children, he’s not great with telling kids’ ages, though it’s pretty obvious even to him that Gavin’s wrists and arms are too small for his age. He struggles for a moment to move most of a completed rocket ship that Jack’s earlier appointment left behind.

“Now I know Mr. Jack didn’t say come back here to play with the blocks.”

Eric’s voice makes Gavin jump and look guilty at his dad.

“Sorry,” he says, eyes wide. He puts the rocket down, though not before tweaking the nose slightly so it sits straighter. Jack bites back a smile.

“C’mere,” he says, gesturing over at one of the overflowing wardrobes along the back wall. The doors aren’t completely closed, different colours of tulle make it over stuffed and the bane of Jack’s existence to keep clean, and Gavin lights up when he catches sight of it fully open. “Let’s pick some things out to start with.”

With practiced hands, Eric helps Gavin tries on every single one of Jack’s costumes, guiding limbs through arm and leg holes, careful not only of the tube on the side of Gavin’s face, but also of the toque on Gavin’s head. Gavin grins at his reflection each time, twirling and running his hands over any silky fabric, before standing in front of Jack’s camera and posing like a superhero or a ballerina or whatever strikes his fancy. Jack makes sure to capture each pose. It’s the easiest photoshoot of a kid that Jack has ever done; Gavin must be the politest, most well behaved kid he’s ever met. When he says as much to Eric between costume changes, Eric snorts.

“He’s just trying to impress you so you’ll let him take some photos,” Eric says lowly. Jack twists from where he was watching Gavin pick out a princess dress by touching all the tulle to look at Eric.

“Geese are his favourite animal,” Eric repeats, shrugging. “And because photography let you get close to them, he thinks he should be a photographer to get close to them. I can’t wait till he learns about zoo-keeping.” Eric grins wryly.

It’s a challenge for Jack to tear his gaze away from Eric’s smile, somehow still the brightest thing in the room despite everything Jack knows it’s been through, but he turns away to adjust the tripod.

“What’re you doing Mr. Jack?” Gavin’s come over dressed in kid’s sized Providence Falcons jersey that still falls to his knees. He’s strapped elbow pads on over top, and is dragging the smallest hockey shorts behind him. They look giant beside Gavin.

“Making this the right size,” Jack answers, pointing at the tripod. Gavin’s brow furrows and he looks between Jack and his dad. Jack’s not sure what Eric’s doing behind him, but Gavin still looks suspicious as he takes another step towards Jack.

“Why?”

Jack crouches down to check that the tripod is level and won’t fall on Gavin.

“Can I tell you a secret?” He drops his voice into a whisper. Gavin’s still looks confused but he comes to stand right beside Jack so he can hear, still dragging the hockey pants.

“Your dad just told me that he wants his picture taken,” Jack says, whispering loud enough for Eric to hear as well. “But I’m afraid I won’t be able to do a good enough job… Do you wanna try?”

Gavin’s eyes are as big and as wide as Jack’s seen them all evening, and for a moment he just looks like an excited kid, bouncing on his toes, tubes and tiredness completely forgotten.

“Can I?”

Jack nods and turns to make sure the the tripod is properly locked in place. Satisfied nothing is going to fall, Jack beckons Gavin over and when he’s in place behind the camera, Jack points out where to look and what buttons to click.

Gavin listens and nods seriously at Jack’s easy explanation, beaming at the viewfinder screen after he takes a couple of practice shots of the empty background, a dark sparkly blue that Gavin had picked out to go with his firefighter costume.

“Look dad!” Gavin says, pulling back from the camera and almost knocking Jack in the nose in his excitement. Jack sits back on his heels to dodge anymore stray limbs, knee walking even further back when Eric comes to crouch beside Gavin too. Gavin explains everything that Jack just told him, and even though Jack is sure that Eric was listening the first time around, he nods and makes understanding sounds every time Gavin pauses for breath.

“We’ll frame some of these for Great Moomaw, what d’you say Gav?” Eric asks. Gavin blinks and thinks about the question.

“Can we print some for my room too?” he asks. “I want to see you for always.”

Jack’s lost count of the amount of times his heart has clenched painfully this evening, hating the fact that now he’s picturing Gavin’s small body in a hospital bed, but Eric hardly blinks before he answers.

“‘Course sweetpea.”

Gavin nods, satisfied.

“Let’s take some with someone in them too though, eh Gavin?” Jack says, as he finally stands up from his crouching position, brushing dust off his knees.

“Do you want to pick out a costume for me?” Eric asks. He gently pushes Gavin back up onto his feet from where he’d been leaning back against Eric and stands, making small steps towards the row of costumes. There’s probably not much there that’ll fit him, but there’s something to be said for dads who’ll stretch a child’s costume across their shoulders to see their kid happy.

“No, I wanna remember you like this,” Gavin says, matter-of-fact like. Eric freezes, holding a pair of rainbow wings. Jack bites his tongue to keep from audibly reacting, and finally Eric’s smile breaks.

“Well, alright then,” he says softly, turning his face away from Gavin and into the closet. “Lemme just hang these back up.” He clears his throat, once, twice, and Jack has no camera to fiddle with when Gavin’s still happily taking pictures of the background, and a clear view of the first tear that falls onto Eric’s cheek. He feels absolutely helpless as Eric closes his eyes and rubs a hand roughly across his face.

Even with his eyes closed, Eric looks tired, like he’s been carrying the weight of the world for far too long on his shoulders. And he probably has, Jack realizes. He doesn’t have kids sure, but he’s still haunted by the broken expressions on his parents’ faces when he woke up in the hospital, like their whole world was on the verge of collapsing before he opened his eyes. And just from watching Eric and Gavin interact, it’s not much of a stretch to assume that Gavin is Eric’s whole world.

Jack’s heart breaks for them both.

“Daddy?”

Eric’s eyes snap open and if he catches Jack staring at him, he doesn’t say anything, twisting towards Gavin, who’s looking over a little impatiently.

“I’m coming Gav, sorry!” Eric hangs up the wings and sets himself up in front of the camera. “How d’you want me?” He poses dramatically, jutting a hip out and pouting his lips. Gavin giggles.

“No, dad,” he says. “Just smile!”

Eric straightens out of the pose. “Alright sugar,” he says, and he smiles wide, any and all traces of his earlier tiredness gone. Gavin nods and presses the shutter down. He doesn’t pause to look at the viewfinder before he takes another one and then another one. Eric’s smile doesn’t waver, in fact growing softer and more natural the longer he watches his son. Jack finds himself mirroring the expression.

Jack has no idea how many pictures Gavin takes, but when Gavin starts to flag a little—the pauses to yawn between squeezing one eye shut and pressing the other to the view finder dragging on a little longer each time—Jack pushes up his sleeve to check his watch. His eyebrows go up when he sees it’s already almost 7:30, two and a half hours after Eric and Gavin first came into his studio. Eric must be paying more attention to Jack than he thought, because he’s got his phone out and looks just as surprised as Jack feels at the time.

“You just about done Gav?” Eric asks, sticking his phone back in his pocket. He takes a step towards Gavin.

“No,” Gavin says around another yawn. He snaps a picture of Eric mid-snort but lets himself be corralled over to the costumes.

“We’ve taken up enough of Mr. Jack’s time, hey sweetpea?” Eric says. Jack wants to say that he doesn’t mind, that he’d be happy having them around for as long as they’re willing to stay, but now that Eric’s said something about the time, Jack can see how hard Gavin was fighting his sleepiness, rubbing his eyes now. He yawns so widely that Jack sees his tonsils. Eric guides Gavin’s arms out of the Falconers jersey he’s been wearing, movements still practiced and careful not to dislodge the tube under Gavin’s nose as he pulls it over his head. Gavin droops forward, resting his head on Eric’s shoulder once he’s free.

“Long day?” Eric asks, expertly balancing keeping Gavin upright and stretching to get Gavin’s sweater and jacket. He mouths “thank you,” when Jack hands them over. Jack feels warm.

“You were there, daddy,” Gavin replies, managing to sound admonishing despite speaking mostly into Eric’s shirt.

“Oh that’s right.” Eric gets both their jackets on and stands, scooping Gavin up with one arm and holding the Falconers jersey in the other. He looks between the jersey and the hanger still on the ground, brow creased, and makes to bend over again.

“I’ve got it,” Jack says quickly before Eric can move. Gavin’s little fingers grip onto the back of Eric’s collar and he’s pressed his face to Eric’s throat as best he can, blinking slowly. Jack knows what an exhausted child looks like, and that’s without factoring in how sick Gavin might be so Jack takes the jersey and throws it over his shoulder, kicking the hanger out of Eric’s path.

“Are you sure?” Eric looks around reproachfully at the tutus that are still sticking out of the closet, the props that make the prop box hard to close, and the backgrounds still leaning against the wall, ready for whatever Gavin’s next chose was going to be. Eric winces when he sees the elbow pads around the tripod that Gavin stripped off and dropped on the floor at one point.

Jack nods and tries not to blush under Eric’s scrutiny. Gavin yawns loudly in his ear.

“Alright,” Eric sighs, running his free hand over Gavin’s back. It makes a swishing sound against the puffy fabric.“Gav, what do you say to Mr. Jack?”

Gavin picks up his head. “Thank you for taking my picture, Mr. Jack,” he says, managing to hold off yawning until the end. He blinks tiredly at Jack.

“And?” Eric prompts after a beat.

Gavin turns suddenly to look at his dad, almost hitting Eric in the face in the process. He squints at Eric until Eric whispers, “taking pictures,” in his ear.

“Oh! Thank you for letting me take pictures too. It was—” he yawns. “—was really cool.”

Jack smiles. “Anytime, Gavin,” he says, holding out a fist. Gavin’s whole face brightens as Eric’s falls, but Jack doesn’t think Gavin sees the expression when he touches his little fist to Jack’s.

Jack follows Eric out of the studio, closing the door behind him and deciding to deal with the little mess tomorrow. He’s pretty sure he doesn’t have an immediate need for a clean kid’s studio, but he’ll double check later. He goes behind the desk to grab a pen and paper.

“So, if you wanna leave your email address here, and I’ll send you a link when I’ve done the edits and have uploaded them,” Jack explains, putting the paper on the counter. Eric shifts Gavin over to his left hip so he can write with his right hand. He pauses before picking up the pen, making sure Gavin’s toque is on. Gavin makes a noise in his throat, but his eyes stay closed.

“Um, do you have to edit anything?” Eric asks quietly. He sounds tired.

Jack clears his throat. “No. I can leave everything untouched.”

“Thank you.” Eric writes down his email address and then shifts Gavin again. It takes Jack a second to realise he’s reaching for his wallet.

“What are you doing?” Jack asks.

“Um, paying,” Eric says. He gives a Jack a funny look and tries to hand over his card.

“No,” Jack says. “Absolutely not.”

“What? No, you stayed late, you did so much,” Eric protests. “I know how much your shots are listed for, please charge me for that.”

“I’m not taking your money,” Jack says again, stepping back from the counter. It’s not like he’s lost any business letting Gavin take the pictures, so he can’t bring himself to put a price on the time he just spent with Gavin and Eric.

“This is a terrible way to run a business,” Eric huffs. “What’ll your boss say?”

Jack shrugs. “He’s a pushover.”

“Jack,” Eric says. He bites at his bottom lip.

“Eric, don’t worry about it. Honestly.”

Eric frowns at Jack but puts his card back in his wallet. “What’s your favourite dessert?”

That’s not what Jack excepts. “What?”

“When I have a minute, I’ll make you something.”

“Uh.” Jack looks at Eric, who’s looking back, expectant and completely serious.

“Do you like pie?” Eric asks.

“Yes?” Jack answers.

Eric nods, satisfied. “Good. I make really good pie.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Jack says. “Honestly, it’s fine.”

“When I have a minute,” Eric repeats. “I will make you the best pie you’ve ever tasted.” He bounces a little, getting a better grip on Gavin. Jack doesn’t think about why or when that minute will come.

“Okay,” Jack says slowly. “I’ll uh, get those pictures up and send you the link as soon as possible.”

“Thank you Jack,” Eric says. He looks down at Gavin’s sleeping face. “Seriously. Thank you so much,” he says softly.

Jack just nods and unlocks the door so they can leave, a lump in his throat as he returns Eric’s wave after he puts Gavin into his carseat. He watches Eric walk around the car, wave one more time before getting and driving and Jack hopes with his whole heart that he sees them both again.

He locks the door and turns away from the window, hoping that he does get to see both of them again, and feeling sick at the thought of why he might now. Jack doesn’t blink away the tears this time.

#jack zimmermann #eric bitty bittle #zimbits #omgcheckplease #omgcp fic #zimbits au #parent bitty #photographer jack #sick kid fic #cw terminally ill child #there's probably nothing medically accurate #but i tried to follow the comic

46 notes · View notes

allthevmff · 5 years

Text

No Love like Your Love

by TheLastGoodGoldfish

Come back to me.

Veronica wakes with the words running through her head. Part of a dream, most likely, if she was sleeping deeply enough to dream. Something about Logan. It’s entirely possible; she checks the clock on the wall and sees that an hour has passed since she drifted off for an impromptu afternoon nap atop (a still out-cold) Logan.

Come back to me—her drowsy mind repeats, turns it over once, twice, then dismisses it as nothing. Logan’s right there, couldn’t possibly be any more back with her, except that he’s asleep.

Veronica stretches her neck to work out the kinks. Logan Echolls is, by and large, a first class mattress, but he’s a little bulky. Most importantly though, he’s a gracious mattress: he barely bitched about it at all, when she abandoned the other couch to curl up on top of him like a cat in a patch of sunlight, interrupting his reading before promptly passing out. Dubliners sits spine up on the living room floor beside them, and Logan’s breathing is deep and rhythmic beneath her.

They’re on vacation sort of. One of Logan’s friends from high school owns this place—a beautiful lake house at South Tahoe—but it’s understood that Logan can use the house whenever he likes. Veronica’s been up here half a dozen times in the three years since they got together. This weekend’s the first time this season, though: it’s January now, and snow’s been light, but there’s a nice dusting of powder, and Veronica has but to turn her head to watch the delicate white flakes drift down onto the deck. If she got up and crossed the room, she could see the icy water and a shoreline of frosted evergreens, almost too picturesque to process. She’ll say this for Dick Casablancas: he can pick a house.

Snow is still something of a novelty to Veronica.

She grew up in deserts: Tucson, Tulsa, Phoenix, Vegas... There was a summer in Ann Arbor and a few months in Minneapolis, but her mother (and her mother’s slew of unimpressive boyfriends) seemed to gravitate to the heat. Then college in sunny Neptune, grad school at Stanford, and a career that kept her moving in some of the world’s hottest climates, excepting that year in New York and the winter spent covering demonstrations in Moscow.

It’s the third in a five day excursion, just her and Logan in this vast, well-appointed house. There’s a fully stocked kitchen, TV, fireplace, and plenty of room for the dogs to wander. So far, it’s been two and a half days of bliss: they work and fuck and cook good food; take the dogs out and watch movies in the evenings. Logan will want to snowboard tomorrow.

Maybe their workaholic inclinations make it impossible for either of them to “disconnect” entirely, but slogging through a scientific journal on the newest super-virus for background is a lot more tolerable when there’s a view of the lake and a half-dressed ex-Naval aviator making lasagna within reaching distance.

Veronica shifts again. Pokes her chin into Logan’s chest, fidgets with the collar on his thick wool sweater, and waits to see if he’ll stir. He doesn’t.

Last winter when they were here, he asked her to marry him.

No, okay, not exactly that.

He asked her if she wanted to get married. He didn’t have a ring or get down on one knee or anything. He just asked her if she wanted that, like he might ask her if she wanted tacos for dinner.

Except no, he’d been more serious and earnest than that, asking. In the bedroom they always use here, after a really outstanding round of morning sex, with snowflakes on the window and coffee brewing in the next room.

“Would you want to get married?” Quiet and sweet, like he can be with her. His voice gets low, tender; it makes her ache. A husband, a dozen boyfriends, a roster of romances and flings who promised her the moon—no one’s ever loved her like Logan.

She was genuinely surprised, when he asked. “You want to get married?”

“I don’t know,” with a shrug of his bare shoulders. “Yes?”

“Why?”

He’d laughed; didn’t even take offense, which was almost enough to make her change her mind on the spot.

But they’d both been married before: marriages that ended as ignominious flops. Worse in her case—she understands that Logan and Lindsay parted on reasonably amicable terms—but all the same. She couldn’t picture going through all that again. She already did the big fairytale Church wedding with the puffy white dress and the tiara-veil (Jack’s family was very traditional). She’d felt silly dressing up like a virginal princess at the age of thirty-two; she’d feel downright comical doing it a decade later. Calling up her gal-pals and asking them to pause hectic careers and family schedules to wear generic teal dresses and be bridesmaids? Her seventy-year-old father having to walk her down the aisle again?

“I’m not saying we rent out the MacArthur and televise it, Mars,” Logan said, like he could read her mind, “But putting it on paper could make some things easier.”

“Well when you put it that way.” She traced a finger down his chest, trying to conceive of something tactful to say. She gave that up pretty quickly, though: “I don’t want to get married again, Logan.” She hadn’t been able to look at him when she said it, but she felt him go still beside her. Only for a moment, and then he resumed the slow, steady circles his thumb drew on the small of her back.

“Okay.”

And when she shifted to look up at him, he was relaxed and sincere. Okay. He pulled a face at her and it made her ache again, but happy.

“Still love me?” she’d teased.

He kissed the tip of her nose. Shrugged, beleaguered: “I guess,” and laughed when she bit him.

She extricates herself from the couch and the slumbering Logan. Veronica has no recollection of pulling the soft plush throw-blanket over them—that must’ve been his handiwork. She arranges it back around him, then yawns, stretches, and wanders down to the basement level first floor to check on the dogs. Maggie and Goat are resting peaceably in their beds in the den, enjoying a vacation of their own. When the snow stops, Veronica will take them out.

The house is still, silent, as she heads back up to the kitchen. Puts on coffee and collects her tablet to work at the table.

She skims e-mails but is mostly unproductive. She holds a mug of hot coffee between her hands, habitually clinking her ring against the china as her attention drifts across the room to the giant window and the falling snow outside.

Never again, she vowed the day she finally signed the divorce papers. Like swearing off alcohol during a hangover: never a-goddamn-gain.

No more chasing picket fence fantasies. Normalcy, stability? Overrated, and mostly fake anyway.

She’d held pretty true to the promise, too. Took a nice freelance contributor gig in Spain and had two fleeting but lovely romances there. Then there was a year in London when she thought she might try photography-sans-journalism (till the boredom nearly killed her) and then back at the Los Angeles desk to be closer to her dad in Neptune. During that period, there’d been Jackson, Dan, and Mike in succession—each relationship ending when they started expecting serious progression. Mike got so far as to ask her to move in, and she had almost considered it. He would have made a good partner, but there was something painfully familiar about the relationship: nice at the beginning, comfortable. They had compatibility, a solid repartee. And yet after months and months, Veronica had never been able to engage with him on any level other than surface. They could banter, sure, but Mike never seemed to realize that was all they could do.

So they split and, a few months later, Logan happened. Just waltzed on into her life like he belonged there.

On their fourth date, she told him about the week she spent alone in a motel room in Vegas while her mom went on a bender. A month after that, he was tagging along for a four-day work trip to Paris. It hadn’t felt fast or serious. It just was. Abruptly, there was someone they each wanted to do everything with, and that was it.

“I got married on the rebound,” Logan had told her, very early. It was always easy for him to talk about Lindsay. “Surprisingly? Not the best idea.”

“Yeah, I’m shocked that didn’t work out for you.” They were on a date, Dim Sum on North Broadway. Logan gestured a lot with the chopsticks.

“My ex and I had just had this long, exhausting break up. We had a lot of problems—both of us... there were substance abuse issues, and—we both worked too much...” (Carrie was unfaithful and a drug addict, but real conversations about Carrie—and Lilly—wouldn’t come till much later) “...so when I met Lindsay, she was the exact opposite. She taught yoga and fell asleep after half a glass of Chardonnay. I figured since there weren’t any of the problems I’d had with my ex, we’d be perfect. So we kind of rushed into everything.”

“Didn’t work, huh.”

“We had nothing in common.”

“I mean—half a glass of Chardonnay? You probably should’ve seen that coming.”

“Lasted less than three years, and I was deployed for about a third of that.”

Tap, tap, tap goes the ring on the coffee mug. It’s almost four, and the snow has stopped. She’ll let Logan rest a little longer before she starts pestering him. They haven’t decided on dinner yet.

There was no puffy white dress, no tulle, tiara, roses, or DJ, when she went ahead and married Logan. As predicted, it was mostly a matter of paperwork, but they did it at the Neptune courthouse, and her dad was there.

Logan never tried to talk her into it or anything. He didn’t even raise the marriage subject again. In fact when, last summer, Veronica had decisively stated, “Logan, I think we should get married,” he’d just rolled his eyes and carried on with his business, brushing his teeth. “What? I do.”

He spit into the sink and asked, “Is this about that stupid article?”

“No,” she said, defensive. She folded her arms and leaned against their bathroom doorframe, pleased with neither Logan’s accusation nor the overall lack of enthusiasm in his response. She had never proposed to anyone before and had expected to be taken a little more seriously.

Logan threw her a skeptical look, then resumed brushing.

“It’s not about the stupid article,” she insisted. “I don’t care about the stupid article.”

“So that wasn’t a heated e-mail I saw you writing to Bob Severino earlier?”

Robert Severino of Vanity Fair had written a profile on Veronica. It wasn’t anything groundbreaking, primarily focusing on her work following a recent senatorial campaign, except at one point, for no discernable reason, Severino included the line: “Mars, who was married to former CNN anchor Jack Roan between 2019 and 2023...”

“I don’t care about the stupid article,” she said again, and it was true. Kind of. She cared in the sense that it was an idiotic line—sexist, too, what did her ex have to do with the photos she took on Senator Gracio’s campaign?—but she didn’t truly care that they brought up her marriage. Her initial reaction had even been amusement: they might just as well have mentioned that Derek Keener took her to senior prom.

But then after a few days, the phrase started to grate on her. Jack’s name didn’t belong there. It was only there because of some piece of paper that said they’d been married, and the paper wasn’t even valid anymore. Frankly, Veronica was of the opinion that there didn’t need to be any other name included in an analysis of her damn career, but as long as there was going to be one...

Then the more she’d thought about it, the more she’d started to realize that there were all kinds of ways her and Logan weren’t linked. If he were to die tomorrow, would she even get a mention in the obit? And yes that sounded crazy and self-absorbed, but—what would they call her? Girlfriend? Partner? Dog co-parent? Their names were both on the lease, so they were at least legally bound roommates.

Logan finished brushing his teeth, rinsed, and dropped the toothbrush into the cup with a flick of his fingers. Then he grabbed the floss, all the while watching Veronica’s reflection in the bathroom mirror as he waited for elaboration.

Veronica wished she could elaborate. She wanted to explain that she didn’t care about a piece of paper—a piece of paper wouldn’t dictate how she felt or what she wanted—but other people cared, and that made it difficult to ignore.

“Mars?” he asked, after another long moment of silence. When she still hadn’t found the words, he tossed the dental floss container up in the air, caught it, and walked over to her. “It’s okay, y’know.”

“I know,” she said, annoyed with herself more than anything. “I just...” just what? Just wished that she could articulate the fact that in her entire life, four decades on this planet, she’d never been the first person to say I love you in a relationship before, and even though she maintained that he’d coerced it out of her by cooking Greek food shirtless, it still felt like a big deal for her. But the outside world refused to believe that it was a big deal until she put it in writing. “It’s just—hard to explain.”

“Yeah.” He reached her, brushed stray hairs back behind her ears. “It’s not like I’m going anywhere, Veronica. You’re it.” Fuck. Her chest felt strung tight. How was he so much better at this? “So if you figure out how to explain it, let me know.”

Veronica leaned in, pressed her forehead against his collarbone. “Sounds good.” She inhaled deeply, breathed him in, and when she trusted her voice, said, “I can’t believe you rolled your eyes at my proposal.”

“You proposed while I was brushing my teeth.”

“I thought you hopeless romantics appreciated spontaneity.”

“You must have me mixed up with someone else.”

Anyway, they went to the courthouse about a month after that.

Veronica is finishing her coffee when she hears Logan coming awake in the next room: his groaning and mumbling, then the creaking of the couch as he rouses himself. He ambles into the kitchen, wincing and stretching.

“I fucked up my back on that couch,” he gripes over a yawn, as he makes his way over to the counter.

“Did you check the cushions for peas, Your Highness?”

He throws her a look and starts rummaging through the cabinets. “Want some?”

“Hmm?”

“Coffee?”

“Oh. No, I just had a cup.”

Out of the side of her eye, she watches him fix his drink. He’s wearing grey sweat pants and a dark-red Henley t-shirt under his woolly green cable-knit. Vacation Logan, Veronica thinks and it makes her smile.

She wonders sometimes, what it would have been like if they’d been together when he was still in the Navy, still facing regular deployments. He consults now, works remotely as often as not, so there’s a certain freedom to their schedules. She wonders how she would’ve coped with months and months of absences, Skype as their only link, the steady dread of imminent danger.

She wonders what would’ve happened if she got to know him ten years ago, when she was married to Jack. Especially towards the end, when things were visibly falling apart—

It’s a grim and depressing speculative route, so she detours away.

Imagines instead meeting him when they were in their twenties. Imagines meeting Logan when he was an impulsive hotshot pilot, and she was a reckless aspiring photojournalist, eager to prove herself. She’s seen pictures, and—though an older and wiser Veronica appreciates the soft lines just beginning to appear on him, the warmth and calm in the version of Logan that grins up at her from her tablet lock-screen—she understands herself well enough to know that the twenty-five-year-old Veronica would have been all over the prior model. They would have driven each other crazy, undoubtedly, but would they have managed to stick with it? If they’d come together earlier, would they have tried their hands at the picket-fence fantasies too? Maybe some Logan-and-Veronica fucked up version of it, anyway—

Or, she wonders, if they’d met as teenagers... if her dad and mom hadn’t split up when Veronica was little, and she’d grown up in Neptune, like Logan did. Completely possible. Would he have liked the smart-mouthed middle school version of her? Would she have fallen for the round-cheeked, tanned and highlighted pretty boy she remembers seeing on magazine covers since childhood?

She imagines the years and years of each other that they never knew. But then again, she likes to tell him stories, and she likes to hear his. Maybe it all worked out as intended in the end.

Logan has his coffee now and he sits down at the kitchen table, kitty-corner from her. “I don’t feel like dishes,” he says, “Let’s go out to dinner.”

“Okay.”

“The pizza place or the nice place?”

“Mmm,” she considers it. “Pizza.”

“Okay.”

He turns and looks out the window at the winter wonderland view provided to them. Veronica thinks snow is still a bit of a novelty for Logan, too.

“How’s your back?” she asks, and he smiles softly.

“Sore. You fucked it up.”

He smirks at her, and Veronica tries to muster up a little remorse. “Sorry. You made a comfortable mattress.”

“Mmm.”

She tilts her head in a way she knows he finds frustratingly irresistible. “Still love me?”

He rolls his eyes. “Always.”

via AO3 works tagged 'Veronica Mars (Movie 2014)' https://ift.tt/2EKIWsk March 20, 2019 at 11:36PM

#IFTTT #Feedly #veronica mars fanfic #vm fic

0 notes

wordsofwhisper · 7 years

Text

“Life is not about significant details, illuminated a flash, fixed forever. Photographs are.” ― Susan Sontag

Life wasn’t that bad for Adrian Fraser. He was doing what he loved and loved the challenges he was facing when doing his job. Photography had always been a passion of his growing up. What started as a hobby had grown into a full-time job. He had his own studio in Brooklyn and filled out schedule for the next months.

“We’re still having lunch on Friday, yes?” his brother said through the phone while Adrian went over the photo editing of a shoot he had done the previous morning.

“About that…” Adrian began.

“No,” Stephen cut it. “You cancelled on me last time. You’ll be there this time. And I thought I was too busy to meet people, but you’re way worse.”

“That’s not true. I’m just going to be super busy this Friday and I’m not sure if I can make it.”

“I will kidnap you if I have to. Don’t think I won’t. I know every place in the city you can hide and I will find you.” Stephen’s threatening voice was hilarious and making Adrian laugh.

“Fine. I’ll be there, but only for an hour.”

“That’s all I’m asking.”

“I got to go. Work is calling.”

Adrian didn’t have any appointments today. His plan was to work through all the pictures and edit them where needed before sending them to the clients. It was a huge task, but one he always took one full day for. After years of experience, he was getting the knack of it and go through it fast. Although, some pictures needed some extra love and care. He used all the tricks up his sleeve, but today just didn’t seem to work for this picture. Adrian was getting frustrated when he was still going at it after nearly an hour wen normally one picture took him five to ten minutes.

He looked at the clock to see it was noon already. He stood up from his desk in his studio after logging off his computer.

“Oreo,” he called out to his sleeping Dalmatian on the giant pillow in the corner. The dog looked up, his ears up, but still sleepy. “Come on, boy. Let’s go for a walk and something to eat.”

He was gone for over half an hour after taking Oreo to the park to run around while Adrian ate his burrito he got from the food truck down the street. He had watched happily as the dog was chasing some lost leaf before whistling that it was time to go.

The temperature was much nicer in the studio than it was outside. Oreo immediately went to lie back on his giant pillow after drinking from his water bowl. After making himself a hot cup of tea, Adrian logged on onto his computer again to see if he could finish this picture. Maybe it was just doomed from the start? Adrian did his best, which was all he could do. Another hour later, he was finally done with all the pictures of this client. He uploaded some pictures on his personal website and e-mailed the client with the link to download all the others, including the price range of what it would cost to print it out on canvas in different sizes.

Adrian sat back in his chair. His arms behind his head as he puffed out his chest for a bit while resting. Some days were more tiresome than others. This winter was terrible for Adrian. Not only did he have less clients—even if he told his brother differently—but he also didn’t like the cold weather in general. He was doing fine and needn’t to worry about his income; he still had some clients each week, but there was quite some room in between to do something else.

His work phone rang.

“Hello, Adrian Fraser Photography. It’s Adrian speaking, how can I help you?” He didn’t have a secretary either, so it was all on him.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Fraser. My name is Sarah Jensen. I work at Garber Agency. I’ve been keeping track of your website for a while now and I like your photography. Are you available for my client on Friday?”

Adrian knew quite a lot and he also knew that Garber Agency was a top agency for many artists, including some well-known TV and film actors. “Who is your client?”

“I can’t tell you right now. Are you available on Friday around at noon?”

Adrian opened up his calendar schedule for that day. He had another appointment that morning, but other than his lunch with Stephen at the time, he was free for the rest of the day. He would have to tell his brother that he couldn’t come to lunch—again.

“I’m free.”

“Great! I’ll send you some details in an e-mail as well as my phone number. If you need anything or have any questions, you can call me. Or e-mail me. I will answer to you within an hour usually. Thank you, Mr. Fraser. Have a good day!”

“Wait—!” Adrian wanted to ask who the client was, but the agent, Sarah, had already hung up. “Bye…”

It only took a minute for Adrian to receive an email from Sarah with all the details, but there was no name. All he knew was that it was a male actor who needed some new pictures. Included into the details was a list with food for lunch, with a note to keep the receipts so they could credit him. Sarah’s name was at the bottom, along with her phone number, email address and the agency’s address in New York.

All day long for the rest of the week, Adrian tried to think who the actor could be. He looked up the agency’s website, but there was not much to be found aside from a one page on different websites and a LinkedIn page. Adrian even googled Sarah’s name, but he didn’t get very far on who the client could be either. It could be anyone.

It was Thursday evening. Adrian was still preparing ideas for tomorrow’s shoot in the morning as well as the secret one at noon when he realised he hadn’t let his brother know he couldn’t come.

“If it isn’t my most beloved little brother who is never calling me the day before our lunch to cancel it,” Stephen sarcastically picked up the phone.

“About that,” Adrian began.

“What about the part of that I will kidnap you if you cancel on me did you not understand?”

“I told you I was busy. I’m really sorry, Stephen.” Adrian wasn’t as sorry as he claimed, but he did feel somewhat guilty for skipping out of his brother again. Last week he wasn’t in the mood, but this week he at least had a legit reason.

“I have a photoshoot with an actor tomorrow at noon, that’s why I can’t come.”

“Who is the actor?” Stephen asked.

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” Stephen didn’t sound like he believed him.

“His agent wouldn’t tell me. Something about privacy of his identity. I have another appointment in the morning, then I have to rush to set everything up and get the food he requested. I don’t even know how I’m going to have breakfast and lunch myself. There is no time!” Adrian suddenly realised something. “Oh god. There was nothing in the list about a makeup artist. Do they bring their own? Should I get someone to do it?”

“Adrian, breathe.” Stephen’s calm voice made Adrian stop talking, but it didn’t stop him from panicking. “Just say you want to do something raw and real. And e-mail me the food that he wants. I’ll take care of that.”

Adrian sighed, feeling some pressure fall off his shoulders, but not everything. “Thank you, Stephen.”

“Anytime. Go get some rest and don’t worry too much about tomorrow.”

Adrian didn’t go to bed until after midnight and he woke up around five again. He took a long shower to calm his nerves for that afternoon, needing to remind himself that it was just another job and nothing to worry about. The agent was already familiar with his work. Maybe Stephen’s idea wasn’t the worst one?

Adrian had to concentrate on his first appointment. It was an easy one. A couple shoot for a fifty-years wedding anniversary. They were a sweet couple and to see how much they loved each other made Adrian think about what he was missing out on. He was nearly thirty and his last relationship had ended two years ago. Since then, it had just been Oreo and him. The only other real commitment he had besides his job. The couple even told Adrian how they met and how romantic her husband was when he proposed to her just a week after they got together, telling her that his life wouldn’t be complete until she became his wife. Then she told Adrian with a laugh that she thought he was crazy. It felt like he was witnessing a fifty-year-old marriage of the characters in The Notebook. It was sweet and wonderful to get to know them. Adrian thanked them for their story when they left and told them he would e-mail them the pictures by Monday weekend.

He checked his watch.

Ten forty-eight. He had a little over an hour to set everything up before his mystery client would appear.

Immediately the nerves set back in.

Adrian messaged Stephen to ask if he wasn’t forgetting the lunch he would provide them before he cleaned up and got the place ready. The studio was a little chaotic, but Adrian had cleared out the space in the room that he needed. The lights were set and he had his camera ready. Stephen arrived twenty minutes before to drop off the food before he left again—after Adrian pushed him out. Adrian stalled the food on the table, checked everything over once more and then waited.

When the clock hit twelve, Adrian looked outside. There was nothing.

Then it went to five past twelve, ten past twelve to fifteen past twelve. Adrian was nervous and a little impatient. He went on his computer to go through his e-mails, answer some questions if necessary. Adrian didn’t get a lot of emails from potential customers, but there could be some.

There were none.

The door of the studio opened and a lanky brunette woman walked in, followed by two men in black suits and sunglasses with another man in between them. Adrian couldn’t quite see the fourth person as he was blocked by the tall and broad security man.

“Mr. Fraser?” the woman asked. Then continued after Adrian nodded his head. She moved forward, extending her hand. “Sarah Jensen. We talked on the phone.” Adrian tried to keep his eyes on the woman as she continued to talk, but he was still curious who was hiding behind the security guards.

They seemed to step aside as soon as the door was closed behind. A tall man with bright blue eyes, short shaved hair on the side with longer on top, and a three-day beard stepped from behind the security guards forward.

Arthur Gates, Hollywood’s young up and coming talented actor, was in his studio!

Adrian thought he was going to faint. Of course he knew who this man was. He loved his movies and everything he had done so far. He even went to see his previous movie specifically because he was in it. He felt his cheeks burn up. He probably looked like a complete idiot.

“Arthur Gates. Oh, my god,” he whispered.

“It’s good to meet you. You can call me Arthur.”

“Well,” Sarah said way too happy, “I need to make another phone call. I trust you can take it from here, Mr. Fraser?” She barely waited for an answer before she walked back outside and into the car.

One security guard stood by the door of the studio while the other one followed Adrian and Arthur to the other space where Adrian had set up everything. He remained just a couple of feet from Arthur. It made Adrian a little more nervous. It definitely didn’t help him concentrate on what he wanted to do.

“Just, relax,” Arthur said with a smile, like he seemed to notice Adrian was tense. “He won’t bite. Unlike me.” He winked.

Was Arthur Gates flirting with him? Adrian definitely couldn't concentrate now.

Arthur seemed to know where to go. At least he had nice clothes on, because Adrian totally forgot if he was supposed to do a wardrobe change with him as well. It definitely didn't seem to bother the actor as he stood in front of the baby blue paper where the stool was placed. “How do you want me?” he asked.

Adrian swallowed thickly. “This is good.”

Being behind the camera was when Adrian was most comfortable. He held the camera in front of him as he was looking for the right shot. Usually he was directing the people in front to do what they are comfortable with, but he never worked with a famous celebrity before. This was a whole new experience.

“Adrian.”

Adrian popped up from behind the camera, looking like a deer caught in the headlights. “Am I making you uncomfortable?”

Adrian’s eyes looked around to the security guard behind him before looking back. “No. I just… I can't believe it's you.” He still wasn't too comfortable with being watched by some tough looking guy who could definitely snap him in half if he wanted to.

“Do they always watch you?” Adrian asked tentatively.

“Hey, Bob?” Arthur spoke to the man behind them without answering Adrian’s question. “Could you give us some space? Your making my friend over here a little nervous.”

“Sure thing, Arthur.” The security guard left the room and joined his body in the front place where they could keep an eye on who would come in.

It was just him and Arthur now and, for some reason, Adrian was even more nervous than he was before. The Arthur Gates was in his studio and Adrian was taking pictures.

“Can I ask you a question?” Adrian asked again softly, not sure if he was going to avoid it again.

“Yeah. Of course.” Arthur looked intrigued and that was the moment Adrian snapped another picture.

He was starting to get a little more comfortable with the security guard gone and it just being him and Arthur. It was still strange that the man he enjoyed watching on the big screen was just a mere couple of feet away from him. The man he adored and fantasised about, was sitting right there and staring at him with his blue eyes, waiting for Adrian to ask his question.

“Why did you want to become an actor?”

Arthur looked down without answering for a moment. Adrian continued to take a picture. Was this what Stephen meant with the rawness? Arthur looked so pure and sincere in that moment, he could see something different in him. He kept looking at him through the lens as he took another picture when he looked back up, staring right into the camera.

“I like the challenge of stepping into someone else’s shoes each role. It’s different with each role. Like stepping into a new body.”

Adrian loved his voice. He loved more than that, but he didn't know this guy on a personal level. Just him as an actor. Although he wanted to ask a lot more, he didn't want the interview him or have him answer a question he wasn't comfortable with saying.

“Why did you want to become a photographer?”

Adrian stopped for a moment as he looked at his own camera. He was so familiar with the weight and how to use it to make a good shot.

“I've always been better behind the camera than in front of it.”

Arthur nodded, as if he understood. “That sounds reasonable. How are the pictures going?”

“They are going great. I'm sorry if I come across unprofessionally. I've never done this before and, well, you… you're Arthur Gates!” Adrian laughed a little nervously.

So did Arthur. He smiled and Adrian took his chance to take a couple more pictures while doing it. He didn't need a lot of direction as he seemed to know what to do. Almost every picture Adrian took seemed perfect, but he would have to look later.

Arthur was good at this. He seemed to know what his good side was, when he should look into the camera and when it was better to look away. Adrian didn't have to give him many directions, other than perhaps changing something up.

“Tell me something about yourself,” Arthur said, looking straight into the camera. Even then those blue eyes made him burn up and blush.

He swallowed. “Like, what?” Adrian stopped for a moment, lowering his camera.

“Anything you like to tell me.”

Adrian wasn't sure if his life was as interesting as Arthur’s was to begin with and he definitely couldn't think of anything that could blow the other guy’s mind.

“I have a brother,” he decided. “Stephen. He is seven years older than I am. He lives here in New York in the Upper East Side. He is, like, perfect in every sense of that word. He is smart, he is beautiful, he is outgoing, friendly, caring, determined, hard-working and successful. He is always busy between being a lawyer and preparing to become a first time father. Yet, he always finds the time in his day to call me or clear his schedule to help me out. He is my real life hero.”

Arthur was looking at him without an emotion on his face. He couldn't read the guy. “What about you? Seems to me that you don't have it. Ad either. You're talented, you seem outgoing, caring, hard-working and successful.”

“I am. I think,” he hesitantly added. “I’m not a great brother to him. I cancelled our lunch twice in a row, because I'm not great in scheduling. He understood this time, because of you. Well, he doesn't know it's you, but he knows about this shoot.”

“I haven't seen my family in a couple of months. I skipped out of Christmas, because I had to go to Europe for this press tour. I even haven't met my six month old niece yet.”

Adrian wasn't sure if this was Arthur trying to make him feel less bad about himself, but it was working a little.

“Sometimes I wonder if I should stop acting.”

“No!” Adrian exclaimed. “You can't stop!”

Arthur began laughing. “I'm not going to quit. I love acting too much to give it up. My family probably wouldn't let me quit if they were the reason for it. They know I'm busy and they know that what I do makes me happy. I think your brother knows that, too.”

Adrian pulled up his camera and took a few quick shots of how Arthur looked now. This emotion he saw was so real and raw, it was hard to capture.

“Can I see some of the pictures?” Arthur had already stood from the stool and moved closer to Adrian.

Adrian couldn't refuse him now as he was right there. He tried to not look up and look at his lips like he wanted to kiss them while he showed him the last couple of pictures he took. Adrian's heart was beating loudly in his chest with Arthur so close.

It was when Sarah walked into the room that Adrian took a step away to create some distance.

“Is everything going well? Are we done here?” She looked half at Adrian and half at Arthur.

Adrian confirmed, “I have enough pictures that I think will be amazing for you.”

“Great. Thank you so much for taking this time, Adrian. It was nice to meet you.” He extended his hand while Adrian, suddenly a blabbering mess, couldn't form a coherent thought.

Adrian moved along with them back to the front room until the four of them left Adrian alone in his studio. He watched them get into the big SUV before leaving.

Arthur Gates was just in my studio, Adrian thought before he noticed the table he set up. And he didn't even touch the food.

#this one has no title yes #idk #caro we talked about this #my fic

2 notes · View notes

spoonless-sunflower · 5 years

Text

I had a really lovely weekend 😊

Friday night: food and talks with my old buddy

Saturday morning: Streaming GBBO with Cat and Angel while getting ready for the day.

Saturday afternoon: Had a great time at the con with a whole bunch of my friends! A couple of them are cosplayers and I had a lot of fun helping them pick spots to pose at and practicing my photography skills! I think I got some good shots and I'm happy about that!

Saturday evening: I asked Leo and our friend if we could leave the con a little earlier than they wanted. We all wanted to stay for the masquerade so I felt a little bad asking them to leave but they knew in advance I prob wouldn't make it that long. We went to a restaurant on the way home. The wait was a bit long but the food was worth it!

Saturday night: I went home with Leo. We were both so exhausted but we still talked and kissed through practically the whole night. I was able to talk to her about a lot of important things and open up.

Sunday morning: Leo drove me to my therapy appointment and I got to vent even more. I feel so much better now. I got to be around a lot of people and friends and I vented a lot and I finally feel ready to enjoy some alone time.

Sunday afternoon: I got home and slept off the weekend. The rest was so nice. My massager came in and it really helps a lot! After I woke up, I was able to food prep for the week again. Feeling confident that I'll be able to do well tomorrow!

Sunday night: I got to play FE3H with my brother. We haven't had much time to play lately bc he's been very focused on his studies. It looks like we're at the end of Edlegard route and I'm so excited!! We bookmarked for the night though so we can both rest for work tomorrow but man. I'm really gonna miss Black Eagles. They were my aesthetic. I see a few chores piled up and they're making me a little anxious but I wrote them down on a to-do list and I'll get through them slowly during the week!

My monthly budget is SUFFERING rn but I feel infinitely better than I have the last few days so I have no regrets! Allhamdullah for such a lovely weekend. It's exactly what I needed 🌻💕

#sunbun talks #q #🌻

0 notes

nubnubblr · 5 years

Text

Day By Day .16

JIYEON

I rolled over and looked at the clock on the wall; 11:30. I frowned reaching for my phone, which was turned off. Why was my phone off? Insoo. I sighed.

I got up and quickly dressed in a leather skirt and a blue button down shirt, I grabbed my phone and my bag then made my way out the door. As I made my way down the sidewalk towards the cafe, I turned my phone on; there were two missed calls and a few text messages from Su Min asking where the hell I was, seeing as I was half an hour late. I messaged her letting her know I was on my was, then hit 2 on my speed dial.

"Good afternoon, sorry I had to leave this morning. I had a dance rehearsal I forgot about. How did you sleep?"

"Yeah, fine. Hey, did you turn my phone off?"

"Oh, yeah. I figured seeing as we were up late last night it would be nice for you to sleep in and I didn't want anyone to wake you up," I could hear the smirk in his voice.

"As nice as that thought was, now I'm late for a meeting," I sighed a little grumpy.

"I didn't know you had a meeting, sorry,"

"I know," I sighed again, it really was a nice thought.

"Is it an important meeting?"

"It's for a school project, but I'm not that late. How's the dance rehearsal?"

"We're basically done, when will you be finished? I'll take you to lunch to apologize,"

"I'm not sure, but I'll be at the cafe bookstore just down the street from my apartment. Come by when you're ready,"

"I'll see you soon then,"

"Bye,"

I slid my phone into my bag as I walked through the cafe doors. It was a nice space, there was a lot of light and a lot of pine. It felt very open which was odd considering the walls were lined with bookshelves that were full of books. The counter was in the back corner looking out over the room scattered with tables and chairs that matched without matching.

Su Min and the others were sitting in the corner of the room opposite the counter. I made my way over and sat next to her placing my bag on the seat between myself and Ha Min. Mostly so he couldn't move into it.

"And where the hell have you been?" Su Min frowned at me, her voice carrying her usual I-don't-care tone.

"My phone was off," I gave her a knowing look.

"Insoo?" she raised an eyebrow.

"He thought it would be nice," I shrugged.

"I hope it was worth it," she smirked.

"It always is," I retorted.

"Can we work now?" Ha Min frowned.

"What did I miss?" I nodded.

"So we have the runway in four weeks. In that time we have to do our planning, preparation, our photo shoots, and promoting. If we want to win, we need to accumulate as much attention as possible, which means we need to get our first photo shoot done as soon as we can. We could do it today but we need to decide on our concepts and then our designer and model need to go and get the outfits," Ho Jun explained.

"So we need to decide on our roles?" I asked.

"We already decided on them," Roo stated.

"So who's doing what?"

"Ho Jun's our photographer," makes scene seeing as he's studying photography.

"Young Pyo is on hair and make up, Roo's going to be the assistant," that also makes sense, Young Pyo was aiming to be a stylist and Roo wasn't exactly the smartest person I knew, but she meant well.

"Ha Min is covering advertising and promoting," he was really good with graphic design and Photoshop.

"And lucky for you, I'm the designer," Su Min finished explaining.

"Lucky for me? Wait, I'm the model?"

"Yup," Su Min nodded smirking.

"What?" I frowned.

"I told you she wouldn't like it," Su Min sat back in her chair.

"You're the prettiest here," Ha Min stated.

"That's true, but I'm still not doing it," I shook my head.

"You have to," Ho Jun frowned.

"No I don't,"

"Yes you do, we already decided," Ha Min stated as if that was going to change my mind.

"I'm not the modeling type, why can't Roo do it? I'll be the assistant,"

"I don't mind," Roo shrugged.

"I'd like that idea," Ha Min changed his tune.

"Hymen, shut up," Su Min rolled her eyes using our nickname for him. Of course we don't usually call him that to his face, though it may have slipped out once or twice.

"And you're too much of control freak to just be an assistant, besides everyone will expect us to use Roo as the model, she's conventionally pretty. We need an edge, something they wont expect and that happens to be you," Su Min tried to reason.

"Exactly, Roo is flowers and frills, where as you're leather and combat boots. We'll be able to pull of different concepts better," Ho Jun tried to help.

"I'm not a model,"

"You're doing it, you have not choice," Su Min stated.

"Why? Why do I have to do it? We have the same style, why don't you do it?" I frowned at her.

"And let one of you dress me? I don't think so," she raised an eyebrow.

"That makes me want to do it," I stated sarcastically.

"I'll make sure you don't wear anything you don't like,"

"I'm not being the model," I shook my head.

"Yes you are,"

"No, I'm not,"

"I'll force dress you if I have to,"

"I'm still not doing it," I stated flatly,

"Not doing what?" Insoo asked appearing behind me, his hand resting on my shoulders.

"Who are you?" Ha Min frowned when Insoo sat down in between us hanging my bag on the back of his chair.

"He's just someone I sleep with," I shrugged nonchalantly.

"I'm Insoo," he stated looking a little hurt by my comment, it was suppose to be a joke.

"What aren't you doing?" he asked.

"She refuses to be our model, I'm Su Min by the way, and that's Roo, Ho Jun, Young Pyo, and next to you is Hymen, I mean Ha Min," Su Min stated, Ha Min rolled his eyes.

"You want her to be a model?" Insoo frowned.

"She refuses to do it," Roo nodded.

"Model for what?"

"Our project, we have to do a few photo shoots, then at the end of the month we're doing a runway show. It's basically a fundraising event but they use it as part of our final score and the winning group gets something, but they wont tell us what," Young Pyo explained calmly.

"You don't think you can do it?" Insoo asked me.

"I could do it if I wanted to,"

"Are you scared you wont be able to do a good job?"

"I know what you're doing, and it's not going to work,"

"If you're scared, you can just say so. Though I don't know why you would be, you have a great figure and amazing legs," he smirked sliding his hand onto my exposed thigh.

"I'm not scared,"

"Then why don't you want to do it?" he asked as he slid his hand higher, further up my thigh. You wouldn't be able to tell he was doing it from his facial expression which was so casual.

"I'm not the modeling type,"

"I think you would make a great model but if you're not confident enough in yourself," he shrugged.

"You can stop at any point," I tapped his man hood so he would let go of my thigh.

"I'm not doing it," I stated sternly.

"If you do it I'll let you take something off the list," he challenged.

"And if I don't?"

"I'll add somethings to it," he smirked.

"I can take anything off the list?" I sighed.

"Anything," he nodded, a smirk spread across his face as he realized he'd won.

"Fine," I sighed again.

"What is this list and where do I get one?" Su Min asked, I couldn't help but laugh.

"I don't think the list is your type of thing," I smirked.

After finally agreeing to be the model, everyone started brainstorming ideas. Ho Jun and Su Min were set on a rocker meets sexy kind of look, or leather and legs as Hymen had put it. I think he was looking for a reaction out of Insoo. It wasn't the first or most suggestive comment he'd made aimed at me. But Insoo didn't even flinch, at one point he did put his hand back on my thigh which shut Hymen up for a while.

"Okay so, I will go get the wardrobe for the first shoot today, and Ho Jun can book the studio for tomorrow afternoon. Is that okay with everyone?" Su Min asked.

"I can't do tomorrow," I shook my head, I could feel Insoo watching me, or at least I was paranoid he was.

"Why?" she frowned.

"I have an appointment I have to go to,"

"Okay what about Tuesday?"

"I can do Tuesday," I nodded.

"Can we do it Wednesday? I've got my fathers birthday Tuesday," Roo stated.

"Is everyone happy with Wednesday?" she looked around the table, no one objected.

"Okay, so Wednesday we'll meet in the studio at whatever time Ho Jun books it for. Do you have everyone's number?" Su Min turned to Ho Jun who nodded.

"Okay, message everyone when you've booked it,"

"Sure,"

"Does anyone not understand or have any questions?" she asked, everyone shook their heads.

"Then we'll meet Wednesday," she stated collecting her things. Everyone else stood and started to leave, except Young Pyo who waited patiently for Su Min.

"Where are you going?" she asked when Insoo and I went to leave.

"To lunch probably," I shrugged.

"No you're not," she shook her head.

"Yes I am,"

"No, I need you to come shopping with me. I need to make sure everything fits properly,"

"You're the same size as me, you don't need me,"

"I don't have the same figure though,"

"I don't go clothes shopping,"

"If you don't come, I'll buy everything in pink," she threatened.

"It wont fit the concept," I shrugged.

"Like it matters if the photos are in black and white,"

"Let's go, it wont kill you and then we can all have lunch together," Insoo encouraged.

"Okay," I sighed.

"Do you need me to come?" Young Pyo asked casually. He wouldn't mind either way.

"Yes, I need you to help me see the whole outfit properly,"

"That makes no sense," I frowned at her.

"If he's there I can see the final product, hair and make up,"

"You can just admit you want him there,"

"Okay, I want him there," she smiled at him.

"You're so co-dependent,"

"I'm okay with it," she shrugged linking arms with Young Pyo.

We decided to walk, the shopping mall wasn't too far and it was a nice day. Su Min and Young Pyo walked a few feet ahead of us discussing ideas still linking arms. I swear he was the only person she was consistently nice to, she wasn't even nice to her mother this often. They were a strange match, she was loud and mean where as he was quiet and, on a daily basis, apologizing for her mean comments.

"He doesn't talk much huh?" Insoo nodded towards Young Pyo who was listening to whatever she was rambling about.

"He's use to letting Su Min do all the talking," I shrugged.

"They've been together for a while then?"

"Since like the second day of high school," I nodded.

"They've been engaged for almost three years, and they've been living together for just as long," I explained.

"That's sweet," he nodded.

"Yeah," I shrugged.

"So, Hymen, or Ha Min," he tried to be casual, he wasn't.

"His name is Ha Min, we kind of just call him Hymen,"

"Did you two have a thing or something?"

"Oh god no, not that he would mind if we did. But we have never and will never have a thing," I shook my head.

"Oh no I thrust you, I have no reason not to, he just didn't seem to like me being there," a pang of guilt hit me. I still haven't told him I'm pregnant.

To be fair I hadn't told anyone, and I'd only known myself for just over a week, maybe a week and a half. I was still trying to come to terms with it myself and the doctor still wanted to see me again about the irregularity or abnormality, which is why I couldn't do the photo shoot tomorrow, I'll tell him...soon.

"Just ignore him, he's probably still pissy because I'm not interested in him," I shrugged.

"Okay," his fingers intertwined with mine.

***

We wondered through the clothing store, Su Min and Young Pyo were moving from rack to rack talking among themselves and pulling things out.

"Jiyeon, changing room," Su Min called making her way there.

I let go of Insoo's hand which I was still holding onto and followed her. She handed me the first outfit.

"So, what is this list that has so much power over you?" she gestured for me to change.

"It's a list of placed Insoo wants to have sex, it's kind of his wish list," I shrugged getting changed.

"You guys have a literal to do list?" she smirked.

"He likes to do it in weird placed," I shrugged again.

"And you agree to it?"

"It's fun, not that I'd tell him that,"

"So how do you decide which placed and when?"

"We play stupid little games, if he wins I take something off the list, if he wins he picks a place," I explained buttoning the shirt up.

"What do you think?" I asked once I was fully dressed.

"One second," she left the dressing room, I assumed she was getting something she'd forgotten. I looked down at the over-sized button up shirt tucked into tight black pants and wondered what she'd wanted to add.

"Okay, come out," she called, oh, I sighed and left the small cubical.

"Wow," Insoo nodded - I withheld a smile.

"You like it?" Su Min asked.

"I kind of want to see you in my tie," Insoo smirked,

"Sorry," he clear his throat.

"No, that's a good idea," Su Min nodded, I guarantee her version of the idea contained more clothes than his did.

***

After Su Min was content with the outfit choices, and not just for the first shoot. No, she decided to get the outfits for both photo shoots and the base outfits for the runway because she didn't want to have to 'drag me out again' as she put it. Anyway, once we were done shopping, we went to small restaurant for lunch.

"So how did you two meet?" Young Pyo asked casually while we waited to be served.

"In a bar," Insoo nodded.

"Mainly in the bathroom," I added.

"That doesn't surprise me," Su Min smirked.

The waiter came to take out order, we sat and just made conversation while we waited for our food. I came to the realization while Su Min was questioning Insoo that we'd somehow ended up on a double date and it wasn't so terrible. It was actually nice to be out with Su Min and Young Pyo without feeling like a third wheel.

0 notes

komorebirei · 5 years

Text

Her Story | Chapter 1: A Fortuitous Meeting

Chapter word count: 1,553

Julien slammed the front door behind him, giving the door an extra tug until the bolt clicked into place. As a chilly gust blew between his jacket and his thin button-down shirt, he regretted not zipping it and took a moment to do so. He lived in cozy Greenwich Village flat, at the top of a tall, narrow set of stairs that led straight from the front door to the sidewalk. Red and yellow leaves faintly littered the steps, a sure indication that summer was over. Autumn was his favorite season, and he took a deep breath of the crisp air, knowing the season would be a fleeting pleasure before the bone-cold New York winter would arrive.

He flew down the steps, taking care not to slip on the leaves, as a painful spill would make him later than he already was. The model would surely arrive on scene before he did. Putting one hand on his camera bag so that it wouldn’t bounce as he wove through the pedestrian traffic at a rapid pace, he made his way to the rendezvous point, a small café several blocks away. He felt a little guilty for taking advantage of the client’s proximity and leaving so late, but hoped that the client would forgive him. Operating his phone with one hand, he shot off a quick text—Sorry, running late. Be there in 5.

The door to the café jingled as he pushed it open, looking around to assess the scene. There were several customers enjoying breakfast and coffee, and an attractive couple at the window table making conversation. Behind the counter, an older man was smiling at him and waved him over. “You must be Julien,” he said, glancing at the camera equipment slung over his shoulder. “I’m Fred. Glad you could make it.”

Julien reached out a hand to shake Fred’s. “Nice to meet you, Fred. I’m sorry I’m late. Is the model here yet?"

Fred nodded his head at the couple by the window, who were apparently meeting for the first time. “I figured it would make the photos better if we threw a girl into the picture, so I hired her too. They just got here a few minutes ago."

Julien mentally sighed in relief that they hadn’t been waiting for long. “Yeah, the girl’s a great addition. Good thinking. Could you describe the mood you’re going for and any ideas you have for the shoot? And are there any special menu items you want to showcase?"

As Fred briefed Julien on the photoshoot, he brought out a tray of pastries that he had prepared beforehand and made his way out from behind the counter. The two of them walked to the table where the models sat, and Fred continued the briefing with more details for their benefit. Meanwhile, Julien unpacked his camera and tripod, and evaluated the best angle to catch the light from the window. After Fred left them to carry out the shoot, a young man came over with a few drinks that Fred wanted as part of the shoot. Julien nodded in thanks. “The caramel one’s for you,” the boy added before slipping away.

Julien loved his job. He never thought he would have made it as a freelance photographer, but after a lifetime of taking photos as a hobby and uploading them to Instagram, he had gained quite a following. It hadn’t been difficult for him to start getting professional gigs, and now, the jobs came steadily enough that he had the luxury of rejecting a few without the need to worry about finances. Visiting new places and new people on a daily basis made for an interesting lifestyle, and he enjoyed how delighted his clients always were to receive the final photos.

Bringing his camera down to review the last few shots, Julien gave a pleased nod and looked up to smile at the two models. “I think we have quite the selection. Thanks, guys. It’s been a pleasure working with you.” The models shook his hand one by one and grabbed their coats, going to the counter to say goodbye to Fred before they left. Julien glanced at the table—they had sipped from their drinks during the shoot, but the pastries were left untouched. He chuckled to himself. The life of a model mustn’t be easy. Beauty comes at a price.

Packing away the last of his equipment, Julien slung the tripod and camera bags over his shoulder and went over to Fred at the counter. “I got some great shots,” he said, grinning. “I’ll just select the best ones, do some post processing and share the final results with you by tomorrow."

“Awesome, thanks,” Fred smiled, then handed Julien a bag and a pastry tissue. “The pastries used in the shoot will be going in the trash unless you take them. Go ahead and help yourself."

Julien laughed. “Sure, I’d never refuse a sweet treat."

“Don’t worry about the tray, Mike’ll clean everything up."

Julien nodded. “Thanks, Fred. You’ll hear from me tomorrow. Hope to work with you again sometime.” He reached into his pocket to pull out a silver business card case and pulled one out for Fred. It was black, with a velvet finish and white font, his logo embellished across the top in a glossy clear finish.

“Classy card,” Fred commented.

They nodded at each other to say goodbye and Julien went to collect the rejected pastries. Folding the paper bag closed, he swung open the door and almost ran into a tall man who was on his way inside.

“Excuse me, sir.” Julien apologized, stepping aside to hold the door open for the man.

The man was tall, wearing a black pea coat and black slacks. His hair was well groomed and parted on the side, and his face cleanly shaven. It was hard to miss a large instrument strapped to his back in a white hard case. He stood with a surprised expression, not moving past Julien as he expected, but looking him up and down.

‘Do I know this man?’ Julien thought, finding his reaction strange. “Go ahead,” he said, wondering why the man had stopped.

“Uhh, no,” the man answered, finally snapping out of it. His eyes hardened and he lost the surprised expression, seeming to focus. “Actually, I came for you."

“You—what?” Julien was confused.

“I heard you’d be here. Julien, right?"

“Yes…?” Heard… from whom? Why was he looking for Julien? Julien ran through the emails and conversations he’d had in the past few days, wondering if he’d missed something.

“Oh—I’m sorry to confuse you. You don’t know me. But I heard about you and—can I schedule to meet you? I uh—” the man glanced at Julien’s photography equipment. “I’m a cellist and need some promotional shots taken.”

“Oh, ok.” So that large instrument was a cello. Julien still thought something was a bit off about this encounter, but at least it was all starting to make sense. Maybe he was an Instagram follower and had somehow gotten wind of the shoot at the café. “Sure, let me give you my card. I’ll have to confirm my schedule but you can email me the best days for you and details about the types of shots you’ll need. The more detail the better, so I know if I need to bring any special equipment.” He took out a card and handed it to the man.

“Thanks.” Accepting the card, the man quickly passed it to his other hand and held out his empty one to shake Julien’s. “I’m Hubert. Nice to meet you."

“Hubert? Nice to meet you. Great timing, huh? I was just on my way out."

“Yeah,” Hubert answered with a wry smile. “Well—I guess I’ll order a coffee since I’m here. I’ll shoot you an email today."

Julien decided not to go home right away but instead to enjoy the fall weather a bit longer and take a few practice shots. He slipped the camera out of its bag and looped the strap behind his neck. The portrait lens would be perfect for art shots. Maybe he could even sell a few to stock image websites. He was aware the camera made him look like a tourist, but didn’t really care.

Not long had passed before he felt his phone buzz in his pocket. Letting the camera hang from his neck, he stood behind a light pole to avoid foot-traffic and pulled out his phone. It was an email from Hubert with the subject line, “Appointment.”

Hello Julien, Glad I was able to meet you today. If possible can we meet tomorrow at 3 p.m.? I’m sorry I can’t give you options, but my schedule is tight and I need the shots as soon as possible. So I’m hoping that time works for you. Let me know as soon as you can. Thanks, Hubert

Julien whipped up his phone calendar to make sure his schedule was open. He had a meeting with a client in the morning, but his afternoon was free. He switched to the email app to type a response.

Sure, 3 p.m. works. Where should I meet you and what type of shots would you like? —Julien

Little did he know, tomorrow’s meeting would be more than just a photoshoot.

--------

Ok, I caved. Even though we’re halfway through November, I’m hopping on board for National Novel Writing Month. Maybe I’ll give myself until Dec. 12 since I’m getting a late start.

This novel is an allegory for something that is very close to my heart. The whole plot is mapped out. Here’s to hoping I can get through it all.

#HerStory #fiction #NaNoWriMo

0 notes