Chapter 3
Kent whistles and folds his arms over the table.
"Interesting," he says, and it really is.
"Okay, sure."
Lynch narrows his eyes at him.
"Really?
I still have some days left before the project starts, you can think about it."
"Nah," Kent waves a hand dismissively.
"I need the extra cash and it sounds fun.
As long as your last day's photo isn't murdering me and taking a picture of my body hanging from a hook in your basement, I'm in."
"Ah," Lynch says, eyelashes casting shadows on his face as he lowers his gaze.
"Deal's off then."
It takes Kent a moment to get it, and then he's throwing his head back and laughing hard, genuine.
He shakes his head as he recovers, smiling wide at Lynch.
That deadpan expression only makes it better and Kent laughs some more.
"I'm more than in. Tell me when to start."
They walk out of the coffeeshop together five minutes later, Lynch explaining in more depth what the project is about and what his goals are and how he expects Kent to work with him, and he only stops when he gets his camera out and takes a picture of a cat standing on a tree, the day's last rays of sunlight reflecting on its black fur and the orange leaves.
"So, he's like.
Taking pictures of you.
Every day."
"Yeah."
"Just the two of you alone, wandering around the city."
"Yup."
"And he's said... what was it?
That you're a good model and he'd like to keep working with you in the future if you're willing and available?"
"I think so, yes."
"Damn." Mayer blinks.
"That's something."
Kent sighs very loudly for dramatics' sake.
"Tell me about it, dude."
Jamir Lynch is twenty-two and his photography course is a hobby for him, is the first thing Kent learns about him.
He's studying graphic design, focusing on an extra side-class of Visual Advertisement, and sometimes he likes to combine business and pleasure using the pictures he's taken in his free time for his college projects.
He's the quietest person Kent's ever met, except maybe for Mayer's boyfriend Micah, and his humour is the deadpan, dry kind that always hits Kent like a punch in the stomach and steals the breath out of him between thunders of laughter.
He has the nicest hands Kent's ever seen, too.
Long fingers, pale and delicate, that hold his camera against his face at the perfect angle – Lynch knows what he's doing.
There's a mole on one of his knuckles and he does something with his wrist as he finishes taking a picture and puts his camera away, some sort of elegant twist, that steals the breath out of Kent just as effectively as that dry sarcasm, but without the laughter and a lot more uncomfortable longing low in his belly.
The first week goes as well as it can, while they try to adjust to each other, learn how to interact and work together to make it productive days.
Lynch comes pick Kent up when his shift at the coffeeshop is over and they walk together to whatever place Lynch has planned for his picture of the day – so far it's been the park (thrice), a train station (once), in the middle of the street when Kent didn't even know Lynch was going to take a picture (twice), and the front gates of Kent's old highschool (once, too).
Kent's instinct wasn't wrong when it told him that this would be fun; there's a bit of awkwardness at first, when Kent doesn't know what face to make or how to stand to make Lynch's picture a good one, but Lynch is patient and guides him through it with that calm voice of his that is almost like a tender caress for Kent's nerves.
He really likes Lynch.
He's kind and doesn't get angry with him when Kent ruins a picture by blinking or sneezing; under that collected exterior he's all quiet, intense love for the photography he cares so much about, and wrenching a smile out of him feels a bit like winning the biggest prizes at festivals (and takes just as much effort).
Neither of them mention that first day when Kent gave him his number in the lamest attempt of flirting known to mankind -as Mayer and Jayce have come to call it- but there's no hard feelings about it, or awkwardness.
Kent is starting to think that he should have been more subtle and less brutal about it.
Lynch doesn't seem like he's very experienced in the subject of flirting or dating, or being social in general, so it's no surprise that Kent's advances had met a wall of no response whatsoever.
Lynch is, first of all, a very good photographer.
"Hey, that's a nice one," Kent says, looking at the most recent picture, the one Lynch's just taken of him talking on the phone with Mayer without him even knowing.
Kent is grinning wide in the photo, face scrunched up in an exasperated but fond expression, gesturing with his left hand at nothing in particular.
He looks happy and open and somewhat charismatic.
"Day eight's subject is friendship," Lynch says, nodding pleasantly.
"The condition was no other people allowed in the picture."
"A hard one," Kent says with raised eyebrows.
The previous days' subjects and rules had been pretty general and easy enough, technical things like the kind of lightning or zoom to apply.
He's liking this side-job more than he'd anticipated.
Lynch had said there was no actual modelling involved and he hadn't been lying, most of the pictures are casual and take no longer than a minute or two to stage, if at all.
He wants Kent to act natural, just be himself and ignore the lens, and that's easy for him, who isn't particularly surroundings-aware and has never really been camera-shy anyway.
"What's tomorrow's key word?" Kent asks, curious.
"I don't know." Lynch is still looking at the newest picture, surely adding filters and layers in his mental Photoshop, maybe cropping some unnecessary inches.
"I check day by day."
Ah, right.
Photography's about being spontaneous and ready for whatever new the day will bring, or something like that.
Kent nods knowingly.
"Yeah, good plan." He puts his hands in his pockets as they reach his home.
"Come say hi by the shop tomorrow, I need some witnesses in case you weren't joking about the hook in your basement."
"Very funny, Kent."
"Really, though, I'll get you a drink on the house.
Or more like, on the money you're giving me, how's that sound?" He nudges Lynch playfully and gives him a two-finger salute.
"See ya.
Don't stay up all night tweaking the picture, if those bags under your eyes got any bigger they could carry your camera for you."
"I'll order some coffee," is Lynch's dry reply.
Then:
"I don't really have a basement."