04 | Focus On You
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I hover on the corner of a street I don't recognise, in a block I've barely been to.
If I have been here I'm sure it looks a lot different than it did in my childhood.
There are a row of new, snazzy stores, all painted in mute colours with simple signs.
A yoga studio, four coffee places, an artisanal bakery, an overpriced-looking clothes shop. It's all... new.
It makes me feel slightly sick, the gaggle of newer, richer residents enjoying their expensive coffee that I'm sure tastes bitter whilst pushing out the locals. It's nothing like the rest of this town, the places I'm used to with family-owned businesses and rustic little book shops.
I'm extra annoyed that this is where Nolan lives. Of course he had to pick the most insufferable part of town to move back to.
By the time I've made my way down the street, past the stores and to a quiet, residential area I have to look at my map again. The little arrow on my phone screen flickers, somehow always in the wrong direction. God, I hate this.
The apartment is supposed to be somewhere here but I can't see a road to turn onto. My only options are to go backwards or further into a complicated mix of old and new apartment blocks, some still being constructed.
Just as I frown, voice exhaling in a little frustration, something sounds behind me.
"Birdie."
I spin, turning to meet none other than Nolan.
He's smiling, hair drifting over his forehead and meeting his olive skin, his eyes loosing their green flecks in the grey weather.
Thatlip ring. A navy t-shirt rests over his broad shoulders, his arms out in the cold weather.
I flick my eyes over them for a second, the faint veins trickling under the skin.
I can't remember if they always looked like that.
"I thought you might not be able to find it," He murmurs, eyes glancing past my shoulders for a moment, "This area is a hot fucking mess right now."
"Then why do you live here?"I blink, words slipping off my tongue with not much thought.
"I'll show you," He replies, head tilting a little.
I follow him down a small alleyway, one I'd managed to miss in my time standing here looking confused. It's slightly hidden, not clearly signposted and a sharp contrast to the other houses surrounding us. My eyes drag over the dumpsters in the narrow passageway, the old paper stuck to the floor.
Just as we make it to the end he stops, walking out to the first building.
"Look at this."
I tilt my head upwards, gaze following where his is.
It's a building, a pretty building.
Red brick lines the walls, large windows framed with black arches.
It climbs for about six stories, each floor having lines of stand-coloured stone, carved into detailed patterns strung across the exterior.
The large door is black too, a line of steps trailing up to it with twisting bannisters.
"Isn't she beautiful?" Nolan asks, voice softening.
It is beautiful, like really stunning. There are similar older buildings like this dotted around but nothing like this, nothing that makes you stop and gaze at the windowsills lined with flowerpots, a little green contrasting against the brick. I blink for a moment, unsure what to say.
"It's...nice."
I can feel Nolan instantly frown beside me, perhaps his lips even curl into a broader, more challenging smirk.
"Just nice?"
I turn to face him, dragging my eyes away from the building, "Yes, just nice. Can we go inside? It's cold out here."
His brows furrow, that same chestnut shade as his hair. He has a tiny smudge of admiration in his eyes, that little flick of dopamine I used to see him get from his camera. It's how I knew he really loved that thing, that it drew him away from everything else.
"You're real mouthy now, aren't you, Birdie?" He tuts after a moment of consideration, eyes studying my face a little.
"Would you rather I wasn't?"
His lips crack a smile again, "No. I like it, it suits you."
The words crawl under my skin a little, antsy at how happy he looks about me not being the same meek person I was. It's like he's subtly implying I did because of him, for him. Or maybe I'm overreacting because knowing he still sees me through old eyes makes me weirdly uncomfortable.
We move again, up the little steps and through the large door.
The entranceway is clearly older inside, dark wooden stairs with a matching railing trailing up the floors.
There's a dark green carpet too, almost black but still stained with a tinge of colour.
I glance across to the opposite side where an elevator sits.
It looks like it hasn't been used in a million years.
Nolan must catch my gaze because he says, "I wouldn't try it, it's old as shit."
"I can see that," I snap back, keeping my eyes way from him.
He hasn't done anything, not really, but that mouthy comment has twisted my guts a little. It's just like him bringing up those old memories the other day, when his knuckle was all bloodied in the damp haze of his room. It's like he's trying to mess with my head.
"I'm on the top floor though," He adds slyly, "Think you can manage that?"
Asshole. He knows I run, that I can manage a few flights of stairs.
I just shoot him a sarcastic smile instead of replying, worried about either of the two responses I could have to his little comments. Either I'll snap more, giving him more room to talk about how different I am or worse -I'll go silent again, quiet and useless and just how he wants me.
My feet reach those first steps almost desperately, like they're clawing to prove I'm not an incapable little girl anymore.
I keep going without thinking, eyes ahead at the winding stairs and dark carpet.
I can hear Nolan's footsteps, keeping a distance but close enough that his presence looms behind me.
I can hear his breath deepen too as we reach the top, barely there but noticeable in the silence. I hit my feet down a little harder to cover my own, happy with the illusion of him seeming more worn out than me.
I pause at the small, open hallway, two black doors decorated in gold lettering.
6A and 6B. I shuffle forwards, and Nolan moves past, slotting his key into the door of apartment B.
My eyes drift over his back, the faint outline of muscles under his shirt.
I shouldn't be looking but there isn't really anywhere else for me to direct my gaze.
Fuck. I don't want to see that, don't want to think about his stupid muscles.
When I follow him in I'm greeted by an open plan, studio-type layout, with a dark grey couch facing a TV in the living room, backing onto a rustic kitchen up against an exposed brick wall.
Large windows are half-covered by blinds, looking out onto more roofs and streets below us.
It's spacious too, rugs covering patches of dark wood flooring and a bar with two stools jutting off the kitchen.
"Whatcha think?" Nolan asks, casually taking off his shoes.
Just like the outside of the building, it's a nice fucking apartment.
There's high ceilings and those windows let so much light pour in.
I can't remember a time I've stood inside a place like this.
It's so hard to comprehend that someone I know lives here, that someone being Nolan fucking Winters.
"Let me guess?" He speaks again at my silent staring, "It's nice right? Just nice."
I squint my eyes at him, feet still planted on the floor.
"Come on, I'll give you a tour."
The tour doesn't last very long because the majority of the space is the open plan area.
There's a small bathroom with a shower and Nolan's bedroom, a little unfurnished in that way men's rooms always seem to be.
I hadn't even wondered where the photos were going to be taken before Nolan paused in front of the last room, the second bedroom.
Except it's not a bedroom at all.
It's twice the size of his, completely turned into a photo studio.
A huge white roll of paper falls from the ceiling to the floor with big shiny lights aimed directly at it.
The window is drawn closed with deep black blinds, stopping natural light from flooding in.
A few tripods are set up and there's a corner of technical equipment.
Cameras, lenses, a lot more things I know nothing about.
It's professional, like I'm no longer just standing in an apartment.
I'll admit, it's impressive. It even eases my stress about this whole thing, calms the weird bout of uneasiness in my stomach. I'm still not convinced Nolan's a better person but maybe he's a half decent photographer.
"I finally have a subject to test this place out on," Nolan mumbles, strolling into the space towards one of two cameras.
"A subject?" I tease, "Are you going to torture me?"
He smiles without even looking up, "If you ask nicely."
His voice is threaded with that amused tone that never seems to leave him, the one that always seems to scrape at my mind.
This is actuallystarting to feel like torture.
"Remind me why I agreed to this again?" I mumble, slipping off my shoes and coat.
He turns back round for a moment, "Because you value my work and artistic integrity."
"Or because you're paying me?"
A smile graces his face.
"As long as you're standing in front of the camera, I don't really care, Birdie."
By the time he's fixing a camera to a tripod I've drifted over to his shelves of things, mainly odd-shaped parts and manuals that look like gibberish to me.
There is one section that's familiar enough, a carefully organised tray of SD cards, alphabetically ordered with handwritten labels stuck to them.
Mark and Ava wedding, Kaylee 40th anniversary, Coda graduation.
All his events, things he's photographed over the years, they're all here. I'm reminded yet again that he did this himself, built a successful career for himself whilst I'm wasting away behind the counter of an old cafe.
But part of me is curious, wonders if he has one with my name written on.
It's stupid to think he would, but at the same time, I'm sure he's kept some stuff from his original camera.
Photos of his home or friends or sister at least. It could be anyone's collection and I'd probably still look for myself, like those personalised keychains you'd search for as a kid.
But, when I thread my fingers through the A section, there's nothing. Of course there's nothing. I find myself frowning, moving on and picking through the next letter.
Blake birthday, Brenda and Rowan wedding, Brittney prom.
I pause suddenly, fingers grazing across one of the cards. I think it's unlabelled at first, that maybe he forgot to write something down, but when I flip it over, there's a very clear B scrawled in red pen. And underneath, a simple doodle of a v-shaped bird.
I blink.
B for Birdie?
There's no way, right?
"So you do jack off to photos of me then?" My voice echoes suddenly, breaking our silence. I don't even know if I meant to say it, my mouth moving a lot faster than my thoughts.
Nolan looks up from his camera, eyes flicking over to the card resting gently in my hand. He almost hesitates, not quite, but there's a falter before he decides what to say.
"What makes you so sure that's you?"
I move my finger lower, hovering over the little bird drawing. It has to be for Birdie. What else would it be for? My brain is suddenly spinning at a million miles an hour, heart a little more rapid in my chest.
"Right and that proves...?" Nolan says with furrowed brows, face relaxing like he's trying to deescalate an argument, "Believe it or not, I know more than one person whose name starts with B."
His words echo in my ears as I stare, trying to read his expression. It's not too different but there's a tiny sense of weakness, like he's half-faking the calmness plastered across his face.
"But you labelled the others with their full names," I urge, narrowing my eyes, "Why would you not do the same unless it was an embarrassing nickname you came up with ten years ago?"
I don't know where this perseverance is coming from, this little bit of fire sparking in my chest. It's like I want to prove something to him. Maybe push a little bit of power away from him and into my own hands, even if the walls suddenly feel a lot, lot closer.
He's quiet, then chuckles, looking down with a small lick of his lips. I follow his movements, the way his hair ruffles as he runs a strong hand through it. For some reason, it makes that weird feeling in my chest grow slightly.
"Fine, you caught me red handed."
I can feel my eyes widen, caught off guard by his confession.
"Sooo, you're admitting to being a creep?" I frown, head tilting.
"I'm admitting to having saved a couple photos from years ago," One eyebrow arches upwards, challenging me slightly, "Is that a crime? Keeping photos that I took myself?"
I nearly say it is fucking weird.
.. but is it weird? Really? He did take them himself, he's entitled to hold onto them.
.. I think. It's a little surreal though, knowing he's got my younger self packaged up into a small black object, probably some of the only photos of me from that time.
But I also can't seem to understand whether I should be annoyed about this.
Maybe it makes me uncomfortable but maybe I'm just like the rest of every other labelled SD card. I'm lost to time in his collection of photos. It doesn't mean anything.
I exhale slightly, pursuing my lips together as thoughts flood my brain.
"I told you, you're my muse," Nolan grins, that subtle uncertainty fully gone from his face, "Now, can we start what we came here to do, hm?"
With slight hesitation, I nod.
I'm so tangled in my own thoughts he's managed to make me speechless, again.
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She's nervous in front of the camera before I even do anything.
I watch her face on the screen, those blue eyes bouncing between me, the walls, the floor. It's like seeing the ghost of a girl I knew, a living, breathing memory.
She used to look the same, pull that soft expression with slight hesitance, her light brows drawn upwards as her cheeks flushed a little pink. I hadn't seen that yet, not since I've been back. I guess all it took was her championing this one weakness to bring it out of her.
It's weird, how much I seem to enjoy it. Not just that flustered face but the way she goes quiet. I didn't really want to admit I saved a few too many photos of her but I knew it'd mess with her head, make her study my face like trying to read the expression might kill her.
"Stand on the mark," I say, gesturing to the black tape stuck to the floor.
I watch through the camera as she moves back, coming into perfect frame. It's blurry for a moment before her face is focused, cut off just below the shoulders. My fingers grip the sides of the camera gently, tilting it up a little.
Ava still can't seem to make consistent eye contact though, shuffling awkwardly and darting her gaze away at the walls. She bites the inside of her cheek, she does that a lot. I wonder if it's a nerves thing.
As I study her hesitant face, a few strands of blonde slipping from her bun, I find myself smiling. Her awkwardness is amusing. It's like she's stopped functioning properly, like me taking a photo is the most uncomfortable thing that could ever happen to her.
A laugh slips out my mouth before I can stop it.
Her eyes snap to me, voice trickled with irritation, "What?"
"You know what a camera is, right?" I tease, "You know I'm not aiming a gun at you?"
"Sorry I don't know how to pose like a model," She blinks, face scrunching, "It's almost like I'm not one."
Her sarcasm, like all the times before, still catches me off guard.
I'm still not used to her talking back like that, reacting to things I say so fiercely.
I'd already decided I found it amusing but now I'm convinced it's something else, fun.
It's fun to watch her get pissed off at me, it's fun to keep making little remarks that I know will tip her over the edge.
I'm close to thinking of something petty to say back but stop myself, aware that the subject of my relatively important portfolio piece is throwing death stares at me. Plus, she does clearly feel out of her element, I don't want her to actually be uncomfortable.
"Ok, you want me to tell you what to do?"
Her glossy, pink lips stay parted but don't say anything before, a little cautiously, she nods.
"Just, relax," I explain, watching as she shuffles slightly, "Let your face and shoulders fall naturally."
There's usually two things people do when you tell them to relax, either they understand straight away and that tension melts away or they do the opposite and completely stiffen up.
It surprises me when Ava doesn't default to the second option, her body visibly more comfortable.
My eyes flick to the pale skin of her neck, towards her collarbones and the hem of her t-shirt.
I notice she's still blinking, face pushing into an almost-smile like she can't decide what expression she should be showing
"You don't need to smile," I reassure her, "Just look at the lens with a neutral look."
Her gaze comes to a stop, now looking directly at me through the screen.
Her blue eyes seem brighter against the white background, striking almost. Her lips purse close, cheeks still a little flushed.
Something about her gaze snaps my brain away from my thoughts, puts me in that space where it's just the camera and nothing else.
I knew she'd be the perfect person for this.
Her essence absorbs everything, the brightness from the two lights on either side make her face shine brighter. It's exactly how I imagined it, her face the perfect focus.
I take a few photos, the big flashes making her blink a little at first but she gets used to it after a minute.
"Turn to your left," I mutter, hands still clutching the camera, "With your shoulder turned a little.... perfect."
I snap a few more, her confidence rising as time passes. When I finally detach my eyes from my camera I smile, dragging myself out of my photography brain haze.
"How was that?"
She shrugs, face falling out of that natural position I'd just captured, "Fine, I didn't hate it."
"Good," I assert, gesturing towards her, "Can we do some with your hair down?"
"Sure," She mutters back, hands finding their way to the back of her bun.
I flick my gaze back to the little screen capturing her, watching as a cascade of wavy blonde falls beside her shoulders. It frames her face, slotting against her other features and filling so much of that empty space around her cheeks. The warmer, honey tone of it almost glows.
It's funny to me that she thinks asking her was an insane choice, that she's extremely far off from being a model.
Her beauty is not of relevance to me, but that doesn't mean it's not there. Anyone with eyes can see that Ava Quinn looks good in front of this camera.My brain falters for a second, caught by the small second of her features melting together.
"Is this ok?" She asks, running a hand through the waves so they fall equally on each side.
I nod, letting her resume her facial expression.
I take a few more, the clicks echoing into the room.
"And... smile."
Her lips move gently, softening.
And there it is, that haze.
That part of her I so clearly remember.
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