LOLA
The cold autumn wind touches my fingers and I slightly shiver at the feeling. I'm skimming through all the photos I took today. I have such a great camera, yet I fill it with shitty photos. I'm taking Visual Communications this year and since I'm graduating in the spring, it'd be bonus point for my college résumé since I'm studying photography. I just need to get better.
Tranced in my own little world, I don't acknowledge the shuffling beside the bench I'm sitting in. "Mind if I sit here?" A guy of the male species asks beside me.
Still not looking up, I faintly respond, ". . . sure."
I feel a weight slump down beside me and I mentally roll my eyes. There are ten benches. Ten. They're in every corner. One near the Oak tree, one near the fountain, the other across the playground and this guy sits on mine. I shake my head at my petty thoughts.
I'm missing something in these photos.
"You take pictures?" He mumbles and I hear the click of a lighter.
"Do you mind?" I ask, finally looking up at the guy before he lights his cigarette. "I kind of have asthma, sorry."
He chuckles and puts his lighter and cigarette back into his pocket. He's wearing an oversized cream-colored sweater that hugged his lean frame. I swear I have one in my closet somewhere.
"You know, you can smoke somewhere over there you know."
"No can do. This is my bench."
". . . Oh." Disinterested, I glance back down to my Canon and skim through more of the hundreds of photos I took.
"Are you a photographer or something?" He asks and I sigh. Why is he still speaking to me?
"Aspiring to be," I respond.
"Whew," he laughed. "I would've questioned why a photographer took such bland photos."
I scoffed and glared at the stranger who's looking over the screen. I take my camera to my side. "Yeah, thanks!"
He shrugged, the stupid smirk not leaving his face.
He reaches for his cigarette and lighter again. "I'm going to smoke, you can go over there if you want," he nods over to the bench near the tree and proceeds to light his cigarette.
The sight of him lighting and exhaling the smoke on his opposite side protruded an idea to my head. This is what I need, something raw. How does one say this without being. . . weird?
"I'm Lola, by the way."
". . . Fionn," he responds and exhales the smoke at the same time. His face also plastered with confusion at the random introduction.
"I know we just met but . . . can I take pictures of you?"
YOU ARE READING
Muse. | Fionn Whitehead
Fanfiction"Hey, I know we just met but... can I take pictures of you?" And that's what started it all. Except, if only it were that simple. ••• [Short Story]
