I'll Share With You My Heartbeat

sixteen

The chattering around Lennon decreased in volume as his classmates piled out of the computer lab. He was so indulged in his work that it took someone pulling off his headphones to realize class was over.

"Lennon," Ms Torres scolded.

"Ah, sorry." The chestnut boy scanned the empty chairs around him. "I got carried away."

"As per usual." She leaned over his shoulder, humming in thought as she stared at Lennon's laptop screen.

"It's for the contest," Lennon explained, cowering in his chair, "The pamphlet you gave us..."

Ms Torres ran her fingers over the screen. "And you're submitting these?"

"Uh well. That's the plan."

"This is good work, Lennon."

The chestnut boy blinked in amazement, his chair scraping back as he shifted in his seat. "Really?"

She straightened her spine. "I like your take on the whole essence without being prompt," she said curtly, "Though I would suggest putting more thought into photography composition. Cause the prompt is just a prompt. You have to demonstrate your skills and understanding of photography."

"I'm trying to crop it so it fits the rule of thirds—"

"Nah-uh," Ms Torres cut him off, "Cropping is unprofessional. The original picture needs to be as flawless as possible, even in the first stages. That showcases authenticity."

Lennon slumped in his seat.

"Symmetry, frames, lighting, depth of field," she listed as she strolled away, her ever-so-flowy shirt trailing behind her, "Think about it."

Think about it? Oh, Lennon definitely will. In fact, he racked his brain all the way to the bar, and not for work.

Viana's eyes widened in surprise when she spotted him. "Why're you here? Did you swap shifts with someone?" she asked, eyeing his camera bags.

The chestnut boy shook his head delicately. "I just felt like hanging around."

If essence without being was a concept surrounding human essence, he needed someplace with a crowd. This was a spot he was already comfortable with, which was a plus.

He wished Kieran was around, but half the time he didn't know where the ghost was at. And their private messenger— Socks, was asleep at home.

He scanned the area, catching sight of grooving bodies, spotlights reflecting off polished hardwood, and a familiar figure tucked away at the back, ringed index finger running along the edge of his wine glass and leather jacket hugging his back.

Cal's head jerked up in one quick motion when someone plopped down in the seat next to him.

"You still haven't gotten a new pair of glasses." Lennon frowned in worry, simultaneously pulling out his camera.

Not a peep out of Cal in response. The regular customer folded his arms and leaned back in his chair, disengaged.

Lennon looked down at his lap, then back at the boy beside him, choosing his next move.

Never stifle your voice for someone else's comfort, Kieran had told him. But what if reading the signs was more important?

"I can leave if you feel bothered." No harm in asking about boundaries.

Cal finally acknowledged his presence, glancing the chestnut boy's way. His gaze landed on Lennon's still-bandaged arm, jaw tensing.

Lennon followed his eyes. "You still feel guilty."