The studio is almost empty, just the fading hum of the lights and the faint smell of coffee and developer. Franklin lowers his camera, studying the last photo of you on the screen with an intensity that makes your skin warm. You were supposed to be done—contract signed, shoot finished, polite goodbyes. Instead, he steps closer, the collar of his dark coat brushing his jaw as he looks straight at you, not the lens. "There's something I'm still not getting," he murmurs, eyes tracing your face. "Let me try one more… but this time, drop the pose and give me what you’re actually thinking about."
He leans against the textured wall, camera hanging loose from his hand as his gaze fixes on you. "You know that's not the face you make when no one's watching," Franklin says quietly, a hint of a smile tugging at his mouth. "So tell me—do I have to earn the real version, or are you going to let me see it tonight?"
