miracle.

"No, I don't hate the idea of attending. I was supposed to be here with my brother and he can't make it at the last minute." He rocked his head back and forth. "I guess that means I'm looking for company."

"I'm Ruairi, by the way. Not that I think it makes offering sound any less weird but at least if you know my name I'm just a smidgen less of a stranger," he said, his voice rising towards a question at the tail end. He held his hand out to shake just the same, an easy smile on his face. It wasn't the strangest way he'd ever tried to make friends with someone but he was fairly certain he could add it to whatever internal list on the subject he might've had.

‘Sounds grand. See you in a few. 👍’

He smiled crookedly as his brother greeted him— raising a hand to the other man’s shoulder and squeezing it affectionately. He’d have given him a hug but he had a tendency to let Calahan make that move for the both of them so his brother would remain comfortable; that had always been easy, he’d always been careful to meet the needs of the people around him. “Do we?” Ruairi asked, his head canting to one side. “Where should we start, then? You have big news or somethin’?”

Her shoulders slump the slightest bit as he agrees to let her keep the photos— she doubts she will now but it’s kind of him to give her permission; even if it makes her stomach churn guiltily as she relaxes. She feels the urge to reassure him again and brushes it away; he’s already said it’s alright and beating a dead horse doesn’t exactly seem like a foolproof plan that wouldn’t end in her simply annoying him further than she already has. “It seems a bit rude not to ask— I know that’s not everyone’s frame of mind but it’s always been mine,” Lina explains with a shrug. “And it’s nice to meet you, Romulus. All things considered it isn’t the worst way I’ve ever met someone so I suppose I’ll count that as a win.” She says the last bit more to herself than not and churns his name over in her mind a few times as if to adjust to the sound of it. “It does sound a bit like you might be used to being in front of a camera— I’d probably be annoyed having my photo taken in that situation, as well. I’ve always been more comfortable behind the viewfinder.”

At which point, Kate would have rather braved a Russian winter than listen to the endless parade of those words.

She'd focused on The Bean and the memories that came from said sculpture. The good times flickered through her mind, but she was torn from it when the sound of someone calling her attention finally pierced her concentration.

"Hm?" she commented, her head tilting to the side. "Oh! Yeah, that's no problem."

“Thank you, by the way, for being um, cool about it, I guess?” She said, a bit haltingly as she tried to wrangle her thoughts away from her general grumpiness at the amount of confrontational interactions she’d had throughout her day. “It’s been quite a day for me just trying to test this thing out and I’ve almost thrown in the towel about seven times, at this point.” She’d been too stubborn to commit to it, of course, but that was a consideration for another day or perhaps for the safety of her apartment. “I’m Lina, by the way. Good to meet you, my oh so benevolent photography subject,” she said playfully, an easy smile on her lips.

he was smiling when she took the picture, just a gentle affectionate smile that he wore whilst looking at his friend and powder. he forced himself to look at the picture when she showed it to him, not liking to see photos of himself, and he tried not to react to the circles under his eyes. "and you, lina, are simply too kind to me." and it's not said as a joke, but in a much more serious introspection that doesn't fit the current mood in the room. so he moves on quickly from it, not wanting to bring down the mood. "which model are you thinking? for the camera."

he leans back into the couch that he's sitting on, back resting against the arm, and fiddles with his own polaroid camera. "as much as i love physical media, i think that i'm going to have to invest in digital soon.." but there was something about the motions of replacing film and negatives processing that he really liked. however... "the film alone is eating a whole in my pocket."

She hummed softly, glancing down at Powder as the Siamese nudged her hand in gentle demand for scratches under her chin that Lina gave in a heartbeat with a fond smile on her face. When she glanced back up at Billy she offered him a lazy shrug. “To be honest I’m still mulling that over. The last few I’ve gotten have been strictly Japanese models but I’ve got my eye on this old Canon— it went into circulation in 1976— and it’s a beauty,” she paused for a moment to laugh, a sheepish expression on her face. “God, I’m a bloody nerd about this, aren’t I?” A rhetorical question, by all accounts— the space on her bedroom wall that she’d installed shelving in simply to display her cameras was a testament to that fact. 

“Some newer cameras are sort of a hybrid situation, you might try those? They’ll shoot digitally and it’s really easy to upload photos to a computer or they’ll use film as well if you want to go that route.” She tilted her head to one side after a moment and smiled warmly. “You’re welcome to take some from me, as well. I always have loads of it and I’d be happy to give you a few rolls so you can keep working with it. There’s no pressure, obviously, but it’s a thought.”

By the time any of this is settling into him, however, she’s already squeezing the canister between her fingers until the cap pops off and the film spills out, ruined beyond repair. Everett watches, his expression unreadable, as she drags the rest of the film into the light, her movements sharp and deliberate. There’s a part of him that wants to stop her, to tell her she doesn’t have to go this far, but the words stick in his throat like stray glass shards, making it impossible to get any of them out. He exhales sharply through his nose, his gaze dragging from the ruined film to her face. He can see the frustration in her eyes, the way her hands tremble slightly as she holds the camera. For a moment, he feels something akin to guilt — a faint, unwelcome twinge that he quickly shoves aside. He’s not in the habit of apologizing, and he’s not about to start now. 

Still, the sight of her destroying her own work, even if it was unintentional — it leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. “Good,” he says finally, his tone flat, though there’s a flicker of something in his voice that might almost pass for regret. “Glad we’re on the same page.” He takes a step back, his hands still buried in his coat pockets, his posture stiff. “Next time, maybe keep your camera pointed at something that won’t bite your head off for it.”

He doesn’t wait for a response, already turning to leave. But as he walks away, he can’t shake the image of her hands, the way they’d clenched around the camera, the way she’d ruined her own work just to appease him. It’s not a feeling he’s used to, and it sits uncomfortably in his chest, like a stone he can’t quite dislodge. He tells himself it doesn’t matter, that she’ll get over it, that he’s done worse to people who deserved it less. 

But the thought lingers, stubborn and unrelenting, as he disappears into the crowd once again.

He blinked back into existence in time to catch her lopsided smile, which he mirrored back at her. It turned a little sheepish as his eyes fell to the floor and then flicked up to meet hers again. "You know, I didn't really think that far." If Shambles were here, she'd probably make some joke about how he never really thought at all. "But the night is young, there's plenty of trouble to get into. It all starts with just a sip." He took a sip of his drink then as if to prove the point, to match her swallow for swallow as he watched her over the rim. He settled it back down on the bar top. "I'm Alec, by the way."

“Lina,” she said in turn. “It’s lovely to meet you, Alec. Your lack of a master plan aside, of course,” she finished playfully, finally allowing a soft laugh to roll through her though there was nothing but genuine amusement in it. “What sorts of trouble do you like to get into, then? I’m quite curious, honestly. And it might give us some ideas for where the night could take us, no? If you’re feeling up to it.”

✦ ・ EXT. WILLOW WELLNESS CENTER — EARLY EVENING. ( closed starter for @li0nh3arted )

Starting over is — weird. Damian feels like he’s won a participation trophy every time he shows up and gets praised for it. He’s here almost as much as he’s at practice — you’d think they’d start looking a little less pleasantly surprised every time they see him walk through the door. And, yes, he knows that’s a little unfair — he gets it, he’s someone who’d been seven, eight years sober for as long as they’d known him and suddenly he wasn’t and it was probably gossip-of-the-day for many, many days, but he got his six-month chip today. His second six-month chip, that is. He thinks he should get a little normalcy for that, as a reward.

The meeting’s been over for about an hour now, but he’d been cornered outside by Bertha, who’s been talking his ear off about the perils of meditation and why she stopped doing it (according to her, it left her open to body snatching and/or swapping, which Damian supposes is a valid concern, if he’s to follow Bertha’s logic) so he hasn’t had a chance to dip and go home quite yet. It’s partly his own fault — he shouldn’t be asking so many follow-up questions, probably, but he can’t help it, it’s like they pour out of him without his permission, all politeness and no self-preservation. Tell me more about how the soul swapping would work, Bertha. And you said you read this on the ‘no sleep’ subreddit? No, that’s not judgement in my tone, just surprise!

It’s only when he spots Charlie that he thinks of an easy way out — reaches out to squeeze Bertha’s arm apologetically and tells her he’ll catch her next meeting, but he’s just seen an old friend he needs to say hello to urgently. He’s probably here for the meeting after Damian’s — maybe, maybe not. He can’t immediately tell that’s why he’s here, but he can’t imagine he’s at the behavioral wellness center for something else. Then again, what does he know? He’d all but cut him out of his life for a year — and so many things can change in a year.

The familiar churning of guilt plagues at his stomach as he approaches his friend, suddenly regretting his decision. Maybe listening to Bertha for another half hour would’ve been preferable to having to once again smile brightly at Charlie and pretend nothing’s weird and nothing’s changed when they both know two things for sure: things are weird, and things have changed.

Also, it’s Damian’s fault.

He’s skipped over Charlie’s name twice now, in his ‘making amends’ list. He’s not sure how to approach that conversation. Sorry I pushed you away and ignored you for about a year. My boyfriend at the time convinced me you hated me and I was better off without you. Why did I believe him? Oh, I don’t know. I kind of think I haven’t stopped believing him, if I’m being totally honest.

“Charlie,” he calls out instead, finding no other way out now that he’s quite literally gone out of his way to stand in front of him. Plasters that easy smile on his face again, waves at him like it’s one year ago and things are fine. “Hey. You here for a meeting?” He glances behind him toward the entrance — Bertha’s now cornered some other poor soul, somehow, which at the very least bodes well for him. Turning back to face Charlie again, he’s suddenly hyper aware of the six-month chip in between his fingers — squeezes it so tightly he thinks he somehow might bend it, though he knows it’s impossible. Suddenly he’s less proud and more embarrassed about it. “Just got out of one myself,” he pockets the chip quickly, hoping Charlie didn’t catch sight of it. “Bad donuts, though. Maybe you’ll have better luck.”

All in all, Charlie’s memorized the layout by now― could probably navigate the place in his sleep if he had half a mind to try. It’s familiarity is comforting in some way and as he leans against the wall tapping away a text to one of his sisters and listening half-heartedly to some of the ambient noise around him, he genuinely startles at the sound of his name and the way his heart lurches like he’s caught wind of a ghost at the sound of it. For a long while after losing Levi he’d imagined the man in strangers― thought he heard his laughter on the wind and ached knowing that wasn’t the case; he feels a remarkably similar ache in his chest as his eyes rise to meet Damian’s and he suddenly isn’t sure what to do with his body as the other man speaks. His fingers feel like lead and his body almost won’t move in the moment before he shoves his phone into his pocket and tries to speak, swallows hard past the lump in his throat and gives in to the impulse thrumming beneath his skin. 

It’s not a surprise that he can’t ignore it, not really― not when his impulse control has, historically, not been particularly good but he thinks that this might be an impulse it couldn’t hurt to give in to. He moves before he can give himself any time to think better of it and wraps his arms around Damian in a hug that might be a bit too comfortable for whatever they are now but he’s missed him and he isn’t afraid to admit that or to offer his forgiveness for anything Damian might offer up by way of explanation for why they haven’t spoken in a year. He knows he isn’t going to push and he knows he probably should, at least a little, so they can work on being friends again but right now this is new and he’s tired of pretending that he doesn’t care that one of his best friends had simply dropped out of his life like taking a breath. 

“It’s good to see you,” Charlie says softly, always too earnest for his own good. He huffs out a soft laugh and shakes his head, “I had therapy today so I guess I lucked out, huh? I don’t have to suffer through crappy donuts for at least one day.” He isn’t sure what else to say but he follows his urges again and raises an eyebrow, curious but willing to let it go if Damian brushes him off again. “Are you busy for the rest of the day? Do you wanna go get a drink?” He pauses at the phrasing and rolls his eyes at himself. “Coffee. Do you want to go get coffee? I know you don’t drink it so it’s like, do you wanna go get ‘insert your drink of choice here’ and talk a bit?” He makes air quotes as he asks the question and tilts his head curiously, already bracing himself for rejection in a way that might make him frown if not for the painfully hopeful expression he can picture on his face.

“Probably used to being photographed for a Kohl’s catalogue so I’m sure they don’t mind.” And maybe it comes out more bitter than she means, but she resets her smile. It’s not Lina’s fault that Estelle’s parents were junkies who had no business bringing a baby into the world, now, was it? Nothing she could have done to help Estie become part of a Hallmark family.

“Fashion photography can be freeing though, right? I guess there’s a lot of dependents, but they always seem to be wild. Though I heard models are bitchy as fuck.” Estelle unfortunately had an encounter with a couple who had just been granted a gig from their social media influence back at The Bank — hardly Kate Moss — but they had credit cards that didn’t decline and tagged the bar on Instagram, so she just grinned and bore it for the sake of business promotion. “People need to get a fucking grip. Maybe I don’t watch enough True Crime but you hardly seem the psycho stalker type, and having a camera that’s older than like half of the shit in my wine cellar should be enough to tip off how serious you are about the hobby.”

"I guess that's just how the world works, isn't it? It's not really unique to modeling but some of them are... real pricks, I suppose, to put it a bit more nicely. You sort of just plaster on a smile and try to get them going and out as soon as humanly possible. At least, that's been my solution."

It might've been a poor one, in the end, but Lina had never been one to create confrontation unnecessarily; she could stand up for herself when needed but she was fairly convinced that even if she had a row with any of the models she worked with her complaints would simply go in one ear and out the other, as it were. "It's either that or they're convinced I'm going to like, sell their photos on the internet and I can't quite seem to explain enough that I really don't have the time to invest in that. Like, these are film photos― I have to digitize them and do a whole thing just to make that even remotely viable," she explained with a roll of her eyes. "It's a bit disheartening but photography's also my favorite thing so I've sort of taken it on the chin."