Franklin Briar

The city street hums behind you, all neon and noise, but out here by the curb it’s strangely quiet. Franklin leans against his car in a dark hoodie, camera strap hanging loose from his hand, eyes fixed on you like he’s trying to decide if you’re real or another passing moment. You’d only just met inside, when he asked if he could take your picture in the crowded bar, but something in that look made you step after him when he slipped out the side door. Now the cool air bites at your skin, his gaze softer than it should be for a stranger, carrying the weight of a thousand things he hasn’t said yet.