Work Text:
You peeked out from the jutting corner of the wall, fingers clutching onto your polaroid. He wasn’t looking in your direction. You aimed the camera at him from your hiding spot as best as you could, zooming in as much as you were able to get a clear image of his face without making it too grainy as well as to get his blonde friend out of the shot. Never did you imagine that you would become so infatuated with the infamous transfer student that you would resort to snapping pictures of him when he wasn’t looking just to feel closer to him. Many of your classmates had advised against even standing next to him, let alone getting involved with him, but something about him kept pulling you in like metal to a magnet. Unfortunately, you lacked the courage to speak to him directly and start building the foundations of a friendship that would eventually blossom into something more just like your heart so desperately wished it would. You had considered talking to one of his other friends and trying to have them arrange some sort of introduction and infiltrate into his friend group, but you felt like you would be imposing and decided against it. So, you were content with watching him from the sidelines, for now anyway.
You shook your head as if to shake away the thoughts that had distracted you and returned your focus back to the viewfinder in your camera. He was absolutely gorgeous; there was no way you were the only one who held these sorts of deep feelings towards him, the other students just weren’t admitting it. His black wavy hair that fell over his eyes looked so soft; you wanted nothing more than to run your hands through it. His grey eyes were an odd combination of striking yet kind, sometimes obscured by his black glasses which only further accentuated his delicate features. You had paid it no mind before, but after seeing him wearing the school’s uniform, you thought he looked the best in it: A black, red buttoned blazer with the Shujin Academy logo on the pocket and a white turtleneck with chevron detailing by the collar and black and red plaid pants. It was only when you looked at him wearing the uniform for the first time that you realized how much of a slim figure he had.
You saw him chuckle, the corners of his lips pricking upwards into a small smile; his friend must have cracked a joke he thought was funny. You immediately pressed the shutter-release button, forever capturing it. The inner mechanisms of the polaroid whirred, a small slip of white plastic rolling out of the picture exit slot, instantly producing an image. You tucked the photo away into the jacket of your own uniform and shut off the camera, packing it into your schoolbag that you had left by your feet. Picking it up by the straps, you turned on your heel and began making your way home, even if the path you were planning on using would take longer; you were afraid that you’d simply spontaneously combust if you passed him by just so you could use the shorter route.
***
You tapped your foot against the parquet of your small semi-circle-shaped room, arms crossed as you eyed all of the images you had taken of Akira during the school day, considering quite deeply which ones to keep and which ones to toss. You knew that by disposing of them, you’d never get another chance to re-take that picture, so once it was gone, it was gone for good. So far, you had selected three to keep out of the odd ten or so others you had scattered across your small wooden table. You used to bring home a lot more when you first started taking photographs of the boy, but you quickly improved in your craft and returned home with fewer, but higher-quality shots.
You glanced over the three images that you were surely holding onto once more: two you had taken during gym class earlier that day, and the last one was the one you had taken before leaving Shujin Academy to go home. In one, he was sitting cross-legged on the floor, stretching his arms behind his head. The school’s white gym shirt with red neck and cuff lining he was wearing lifted slightly and revealed the bottom of his stomach as he did so, whilst the pair of red shorts that came with it were slightly scrunched by his thighs. The soft morning light streaming in through the gymnasium’s windows somehow managed to hit him at the perfect angle to where you were able to see the outline of his body through the shirt’s thin material. The other picture made your heart bounce joyfully within your ribcage, blood rushing to your cheeks and dusting their surface with a light pink color. Akira had removed his spectacles and lifted the hem of his shirt to wipe at his right cheek, face crowned with miniscule sweat droplets. The way he was holding onto it revealed even more of his body than the previous picture did, showing a thin but still fairly noticeable outline of some abdominals. With his gaze pointed downwards towards the floor, his cheeks red from the strenuous exercise, the angelic lighting where you managed to capture him in an endless void of white and he was the only subject in the image, you would be lying if you said this wasn’t one of your favorite pictures from today.
Giving all of the photos one final look through, you set aside the three you had chosen and brushed the unwanted ones across the surface of your table, and let them fall into the trash bin beside it. There was still a lot of space left before you had to empty it; you could still take back some pictures if you happened to change your mind. Holding the photographs gingerly in your hand, you turned to the left side of your room where you had hung an enormous corkboard that was almost half the size of the wall, about 80 pictures or so haphazardly pinned to it. You were going to have to start considering what to do with all of them; you were beginning to run out of space.
You unpinned and shifted some photographs this way and that, being precise in putting the tacks exactly into their original opening so you wouldn’t unnecessarily fill them with holes. You had been questioned as to why you had a corkboard filled with images of the same boy by your parents and any other family members that happened to stop by your room whenever they visited: you simply told them that you had joined the photography club at school and that Akira had given you his permission to take these pictures, passing off your actions as a simple hobby rather than an ornate obsession. After that, you were questioned no further and were in fact encouraged to continue your creative endeavors, being told that your pictures were stunningly beautiful.
You physically retracted a step, admiring your handiwork, admiring all of the time and effort you had put into capturing each and every one of these photographs, admiring the boy that was at the very core of your newfound passion for taking pictures.
He truly was beautiful.