Chapter Text
Gyuvin doesn’t remember when it stopped being casual, and that’s probably the worst part. It would be easier if there was a clear starting point, something he could point to and say, that’s when it got weird, but there isn’t. It just grew. Quietly, as if something that had always been meant to take up space in his life. Now it sits there, woven into his routine so seamlessly that he doesn’t even question it anymore. He’s always waking up, checking schedules, adjusting his plans around someone else’s movements. It’s so normal, it happens every day. What do you even call this? Devotion?
The airport was already packed by the time he got there, which is expected but still irritating in the way it always is. There’s a kind of hierarchy to these things, even if no one says it out loud, and Gyuvin knows exactly where he stands within it. He isn’t quite a newbie fumbling with settings, but he’s not one of the loud, pushy ones either. He’s careful, a kind of person who gets good shots without drawing attention to himself. That’s why he’s able to slip through the crowd with minimal resistance. He can easily get himself to a spot he’s memorized long ago. He adjusted the strap of his camera against his shoulder, fingers brushing over the familiar weight of it, setting himself in something steady while everything else hums with anticipation.
Gyuvin hummed.
He already knew that Ricky’s flight landed ten minutes ago. He’s been tracking it since before he even left the house, refreshing updates like it actually matters. As if there’s something at stake beyond just getting a good picture. There isn’t, not really. But it feels like there is, and that’s enough.
The shift happened all at once. The noise changes with people leaning forward in unison as if pulled by the same invisible thread. Gyuvin lifted his camera before most of them even realized what’s happening, he checked his setting a few times.. but he knew it was already perfect, he’s done this so much it doesn’t require thought anymore. It’s all instinct and muscle memory now. It’s a kind of precision that only comes from repetition and something a little more intense than dedication.
And then Ricky stepped out.
It shouldn’t hit him the way it does. He sees him all the time through a screen and through glass, through this exact lens, over and over again until the image of him is practically burned into his brain. But in person it’s always different. There’s of course a weight to it, a presence that photos can’t fully capture, no matter how hard he tries. Ricky walks like the space belongs to him, it’s so attractive. Gyuvin.. can’t help but to feel his muscles tighten up at that moment. Soon enough, his shoulders relaxed, keeping his posture straight, and mask covering most of his face. Gyuvin notices everything without meaning to. The slight sneak of his tattoos. The way his hair falls just a little differently today. The way he steps a little harder with each move. Fuck, he was so deep in to this.
His finger pressed down on the shutter, again and again. But he didn’t rush. There’s an art to this, a patience that most people don’t have. And that’s why his photos always turn out better. He waits for the right moments. It always winds up working out perfectly for the man.
Ricky passes through, disappears, and just like that, it’s over.
The energy dissolves almost instantly, the crowd breaking apart as if nothing just happened. Right. As if they weren’t all holding their breath seconds ago. Gyuvin lowered his camera slowly, exhaling through his nose as the tension leaves his shoulders. He didn’t want to check the photos yet. He already knows they’re good. There’s no need to rush that part.
It’s better when he’s alone.
The train ride home is quieter than the airport, but not by much. He manages to get a seat by the window, the man’s camera resting securely in his lap, one hand loosely wrapped around it. He waits a few stops before finally turning it on, scrolling through the shots with a kind of quiet anticipation that he would never admit out loud. One by one. My God, he was so perfect. Shen Quanrui, what has gotten into you?
But then, Gyuvin slows down.
There’s always one. There’s always that ONE.
He stopped on it, thumb hovering as he zoomed in. Ricky mid-step, gaze angled just enough to catch the light in a way that makes everything look softer. It’s not dramatic..thank God It’s perfect. This is the kind of photo that doesn’t need much to stand out.
Gyuvin stared at it for longer than he meant to, something warm and quiet settling in his chest. It’s a familiar feeling, one he doesn’t question anymore.
By the time he got home, he was already thinking about where it’s going to go.
His room greeted him the same way it always does. He shut the door behind him, kicking off his shoes as his gaze flickers just briefly toward the wall. He didn’t walk over right away, even though he wanted to. Instead, he set his camera down carefully on his desk, plugged it in, and went through the motions he’d built into a routine so it doesn’t feel like what it actually is.
Uploading only took a few minutes. Editing takes longer, but he doesn’t rush it. He never rushes anything that involves Ricky. His everything. His love. Every adjustment is small, preserving what’s already there instead of changing it. He doesn’t like altering too much. It feels wrong. It hid Ricky’s true beauty when people put a shit ton of filters over him. He made sure to only edit what needed to really be edited out. And he knew.
When he finished, the room felt even quieter than before.
He reached into his drawer and pulled out a fresh sheet of photo paper, feeding it into the printer. The image slowly came to life. He watched every moment of it. Gyuvin watched the entire process without looking away, leaning forward slightly as if that will make it finish faster.
When it was finally done, he didn’t touch it immediately. He let it sit there for a second, perfect and untouched, before carefully lifting it by the edges, holding it up to the light.
Then Gyuvin turned.
The wall isn’t chaotic, not to him. It’s organized, meticulous in the way everything is placed. There are older photos pushed slightly outward, newer ones taking center space. Some are candid, some are sharp and composed, all of them Ricky, in different moments, in different moods, different days that Gyuvin has collected like they mean something. Because they do. Hell, he was a creep. But he didn’t want to admit that.
He stepped closer, scanning for the right spot, even though he already knew where it belonged.
There was a small gap near the middle, just slightly off to the right.
Gyuvin pressed the photo against the wall, smoothing it down carefully. The man let his fingers linger… Ricky was so pretty. Gyuvin adjusted it slightly, straightened it back, and tilted his head. A slight smile creeped on his face.
It fits!
He exhaled softly, then looked at all of them. At the way the wall has slowly filled over time without him ever deciding to stop it. It should feel like too much. It should feel excessive and embarrassing.
It doesn’t, Gyuvin just sees it as a passion. He loves this man, what’s wrong with finding hobbies? Even if they’re parasocial.
Later, he endsd up on his bed without really remembering lying down, phone already in his hand, gallery open like it always is at the end of the day. He scrolled through the photos again on Twitter, even though he’s already seen them, already edited them, already printed his favorite. Twitter liked them too. They got much attraction. What’s wrong if he likes them a lot more than the others? To be fair, he did take them on his own. Something to be proud of.
His thumb paused on the same image again. He stared at it, his eyes traced the details and the small things no one else would care about. But he doesn’t think about why it matters.
And he doesn’t question why this has become such a fixed part of his life, why his days seem to orbit around someone who has no idea he exists.
He just admires for hours. In his own room. Being the pervert, the weirdo he is. To a man who doesn’t even know he exists. Shen Quanrui.