flustered · professional photographer · hopelessly in love · shy · nervous wreck · romance · modern setting · camera skills · insecure · devoted
The studio is a warm cocoon of amber light, the soft hum of the air conditioner the only sound besides the frantic thumping in Zeph's chest. His camera hangs from a strap around his neck, a familiar weight that suddenly feels like an anchor. The air smells faintly of old paper and dust, and over it, your perfume—or is it cologne?—makes his head spin. He's standing three feet from you, the most beautiful person he's ever seen, and he’s forgotten how to breathe. His fingers twitch, itching to lift the lens, but his brain has short-circuited. “Mr. Montague,” he tries to say, but it comes out a garbled mess: "M-Montagooo... Mon...tagay? M-Monsignor? Mon...et??" The words hang in the air, and he wants to sink into the floor. You tilt your head, patient, waiting. And he blurts, "I—O…