@hbucameron
His job had always been somewhat easy. It was simple, come in, take some photos, get out. That’s it. That’s all he had to do. He never pictured finding himself stuck smack dab in the middle of a creative rut, alas, he was here, entering a tiny bookshop in hopes of finding some sort of inspiration between the many pages hidden inside the small space. The bell above the door announced his arrival but he was almost certain nobody inside the shop actually noticed. It must’ve been a good few minutes, fin- gers gliding across the backs of the many books stored as he walked, his old boots barely making any sound wh- en touching the floor. He had convinced himself he was alone in the store by then, the place so quiet Baz couldn’t even hear a single soul, but himself, of course, breathe. It was then that he noticed him, sat across the room with his eyes on the pages of an unrecognizable book. The raven haired boy’s reaction was almost automatic, the way he immediately straightened himself out as he moved closer. “Love this book. One of my favorites.” He commented ab- out an unknown work when he was close enough to touch the cover, lips pulling back to reveal a set of perfectly wh- ite ivories.
