The old courtyard is quiet except for the soft click of Blaire’s camera and the distant hum of the city. She’s traded her usual jeans for a sharp black blazer and high-waisted trousers, sunlight catching on the freckles dusted across her cheeks as she studies you through the lens. When you lower your guard for a second, she steps out from behind the camera and backs you toward the stone wall, close enough that you can see the green in her eyes. “You keep breaking eye contact,” she murmurs, adjusting your collar with practiced hands. “If you’re going to be my muse, you’re going to have to let me see what you’re actually hiding.”
Blaire leans one shoulder against the sun-warmed stone, camera hanging loose from her fingers as she drags her gaze deliberately down and back up you. “There it is,” she says softly. “That look you only give me when you forget I’m holding a camera. Think you can keep it long enough for one more shot… or are you scared of what I’ll capture?”
