Work Text:
Photography was something he took seriously.
So when a friend suggested the sly, loud-mouthed pale curly-haired brunette to him as a possible subject for his upcoming exhibit, well, he wasn’t too keen on the matter.
As he pored over the prints and pondered over which shots to choose, he reminded himself of how troublesome the boy actually was during their shoot.
He had been late, and he was willing to overlook that had he not complained and teased him over and over about his methods. They bickered over the lighting and which way he should position a particular body part and overall refused to do anything he said.
Needless to say, they both went home in sour moods that day.
He had been in the middle of vowing never to listen to his friend again when he chanced upon a certain monochrome print.
It was one of the shots where he feigned deaf to his instructions and made his own decision. The light had hit him at an odd angle ― overpowering yet illuminating his face at the same time; he looked vulnerable, unguarded. Open. The light had thrown his surroundings in sharp relief, his body a lovely silhouette. It was harrowing and beautiful and a bit frightening all at the same time. The cropped sweater he wore for a specific shot exposed his midriff as he crossed his arms to rest on his curly mop of hair. And his eyes are staring straight into the camera.
Nick finds himself wondering whether one can actually fall in love with a photograph as he frantically dials Charlie's number on his phone three minutes later.