Admire

Prologue

Patrick sat behind the small, round coffee table, fiddling with his camera then proceeding to aim it at his cup.
He figured it would look artsy, a picture of his stained paper coffee cup resting on the shiny cedar table.

Patrick was in desperate need of new content. He was ready to take photos that didn't make him seem like some shitty Tumblr wannabe. He wanted people to look at his pictures and feel something. He wanted to show people beauty. And pain. And angst.

Maybe taking a picture of his fucking coffee wasn't the way to do that.

He set his camera on the table, leaning back and burying his head in his hands, before looking up into the viewfinder again to find the camera focused on a man sitting at the table just about 30 feet away from him.

Patrick's eyes lit up at the image on the screen. The man was perfect.

His hair was dark and ruffled, sticking up in fluffy daggers in some spots, and his dark stubble matched it. His eyes were quite dark as well, narrowed and looking out the window. His lips were perfection-the bottom one beautifully plump, and the top slanting up wonderfully and then dipping in the center just as well, like two perfect little mountains.
He wasn't quite frowning- but he certainly wasn't smiling either. The line in his lips was generally straight, only slightly arching, but some how the corner of his mouth seemed to slant up just a little, as if whatever he was contemplating was so upsetting that it was nearly humorous.
Nearly.

And his coffee sat on his table just like Patrick's, and his hand sat under his chin and his black button up shirt with the sleeves rolled up and the top two buttons opened was perfectly crinkled, and his skin was perfectly tan, and his knees just the perfect distance apart, and his white high tops crossing together so unbelievably perfectly, right below the crinkled up ends of his black jeans.
He was perfect.
This was perfect.

And with one click, Patrick had captured that perfection.
And he was absolutely planning on capturing more of it.