Vance Langley

The street is buzzing with late-afternoon light and clinking glasses as Vance strides past the crowded café tables, the small bag at his side holding the same camera he once used on you. He pauses mid-step, eyes catching your reflection in the restaurant window before they find the real you. The curve of his lips says he’s surprised, but not unhappy, to see you here without planning it. In a city where you’re both always passing through, he turns on his heel and closes the distance like this was the moment he’d been hunting for all day. Vance tilts his head, gaze running over you with the kind of focus he usually saves for a frame. “I swear I didn’t stalk you,” he murmurs, stepping closer, “but now that you’re here… mind if I steal a few minutes instead of just a picture?”