revelation- (lty) 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐞𝐝

003. PROFESSIONALISM

ＲＥＶＥＬＡＴＩＯＮ
003 | Professionalisms

Dear Diary,

From my own recollection, I've never been one of those types of people that had trouble with being up front about my feelings, thoughts or anything of that nature. I had always been quite decent at making first impressions and being assured of my decisions. But today happened to be the first time in my own memory that I had questioned my intentions and the position I had placed myself in.

From my peripheral I could see Taeyong as he wandered around the miniature photography studio. It wasn't a big landscape setting with a large capacity to hold a whole crew of assistance and worker, but a decent enough size to suit about maybe five people, some equipment, and a little set.

His slender hands delicately brushed over some of the clutter and equipment set aside on the tables, while his eyes glanced around the room absorbing the portraits and paintings that aligned the grey walls — it was almost as if he was trying to immerse himself into the delicate atmosphere that was complemented by lo-fi tunes through my portable speaker.

As he gloated around the perimeter of the studio, I occupied myself with setting up the remainder of my equipment and adjusting the digital monitors according to each frame. I expressed to him indirectly how for the first shoot I'd wanted headshots and few silhouettes — various angles to catch his profile and provide an outline of his facial features and structure.

Of course, he had once again asked for me to restate the purpose of the photoshoots and how long I would need for him to be my muse. I subtly gnawed on my bottom lip as I fidgeted with my camera lens and reposition the black metal stool in front of the white canvas tarp.

Taeyong positioned himself in front of the camera. His hair was of a honey blonde with a tinge tint of auburn from a faded dye, lips a beautiful coral color that brighten his slightly flushed pale skin from lack of sunlight, and umber eyes were staring directly into the soul of the camera and piercing through — like he was making direct eye contact with my own.

I shuddered at the cold chill and cursed beneath my breath at the lack of warmth that the oversized knitted cardigan failed to protect me from, as cradle the camera into the crook of my hands and positioned the viewfinder to my sight.

Each flash of light, each facial adjustment, or reposition of his body do find the perfect angle made my hands clammy with moisture. My throat became raw and dry from the amount of times I had forced myself to swallow the pain of intense stares and indirect, yet direct, eye contact I made with him behind the camera.

I could feel his breath against my ear during the seconds spent looking over the couple of frames. The way his hands gripped the corner of the desk as he leaned further to get a better look at the computer screen as he claimed his "eyesight was bad from the amount of flashes" from the camera.

The couple of minutes spent after the shoot to discuss his next availability and my future deadline, I couldn't help myself but to show my discomfort, while trying to keep my legs crossed over each other and adjust to a more suitable position for the minute. I could feel my heat, and almost as if i could imagine it, I could smell my own arousal. though his words lingered in my head as I recalled distinctly "professional" being one of them—I couldn't seem to grasp my own reality and how much tension I had physically drowned myself in.

One sided relationships are always the worst.

With Everlasting Love,
Sapphire A'na Haven