Archive of Our Own ^beta

Ever since Wise can remember, holding a camera has been something as natural as breathing. 

It had started on a whim. His first subject was a skittish black cat—far too quick for a 6-years-old him to approach. The resulting photo had come out blurry: bright yellow-eyes glowing in the frame, a mass of black body appearing as a smudge, tiny pink paws caught suspended mid-air. 

But to Wise, it was the closest he’d ever get to actually holding the little critter in his hands.

Then came the giant, blossoming plum tree in the backyard of his old home—until a lightning strike reduced it to memory. The glittering summer sea, with gulls cawing as they glided above. And before he knew it, Wise found himself trekking up a hiking trail at 3 in the morning despite his horrendous stamina, all because he’d overheard that it was the only proper time to capture the Cretan Meteor Shower.

Nevertheless, his career as a professional photographer started when, at Belle’s insistence—because finally, there’s something else apart from grocery shopping that made you leave the house, Brother!— he submitted the photo to the New Eridu Landscape Photography Competition. He had won 1st place, got some pretty overwhelming amount of exposure, a ridiculous demand for his photos that somehow culminated into him having his own exhibition.

Wise blinks.

Right. His exhibition.

“Have you considered people as the subjects for your next exhibition, Wise? You know, just to freshen up the theme for a bit?”

Wise doesn’t frown, but his facial muscles do twitch in a blink-and-you-miss-it manner.

It’s not that he dislikes taking pictures of people. Wise is used to being the designated photographer for his sister and her group of friends. But it also comes with constant retakes (and Belle chewing his ears off because she doesn’t look cute in that one shot), shifting positions to get the best light, moving from one location to another because one place is never enough. 

Not to say the experiences were unpleasant, but Wise will be lying if he says it doesn’t drain his social battery out. And he’s not built to socialize for a long time. That’s Belle’s expertise, not his.

So he just…avoids doing any people photography outside of that.

For someone who looks like they’re considering the idea, he must have been silent for a bit longer than necessary because his manager clears her throat, loudly.

“Think about it like this, Wise,” Venus starts in that conspiring tone of hers, “It can show your versatility as a photographer. Not to mention, didn’t you say you’ve been lacking inspiration as of late? Maybe changing some stuff up might help in getting those creative gears kicking again!”

When she puts it that way, Wise can’t find himself refuting the reasoning either. 

He hates to admit it, but lately, there’s this nagging feeling that something seems to be missing from his photos. While usually he’s able to brush it off, the feeling is persistent enough to bleed into him being dissatisfied with his own works.

Maybe he’s hitting the threshold of his skills, maybe he has been swimming in the same pool for too long, or maybe he’s just simply…having a burnout. 

In any case. Venus’ words do have their own merit.

“Though, I’m still not too sure about using people as my subjects for my next exhibition,” Venus’ face crumbles, “I’ll think about it.”

The second Wise ends his sentence, Venus clasps his hands, clear relief pouring out of her eyes.

“This is why you’re my favorite photographer to work with,” Venus tearfully babbles, “You never outright brush my suggestions off.” 

Wise chuckles, carefully extracting his hands from Venus’s hold. “You always took such good care of me even when I was still a rookie photographer. It’s only fair that I treated you the same.”

“Oh, how far you’ve grown. You’re making me feel old.” Venus sniffs dramatically, dabbing at her eyes with an exaggerated flourish. “But I’m serious when I said it’s only a suggestion. You’re the one who knows what suits yourself the best after all.”

“Yes, of course.” Wise chuckles again, softer this time. “You should stop worrying, Venus. I can handle it. Though, I do need to know when the next exhibition will be?”

Venus leans back into her chair, crossing her arms with a slight frown. “A month or two from now. Would that be enough time for you? Or should I rearrange the schedules?”

If Wise wants to be honest, with how bad these roadblocks are hitting him, he’s not entirely sure he’ll be able to come up with something satisfactory. 

“I’ll see what I can do about it,” Wise answers instead, a reassuring smile on his face, “I don’t want you to go through the troubles of talking with the clients again.”

Venus takes a sip of her coffee before waving it in his direction. “Like I said, you never trouble me, Wise.” A soft clink as Venus set her cup down, “but you’re right,” followed by a tired sigh, “they’re a headache to talk with. I’ve lost count of how many last minute changes they demanded.”

Wise nods his head sympathetically. 

Before Venus was his manager, Wise had to deal with all the migraine-inducing work dealings and unreasonable clients almost by himself. Belle had been there to act as his emergency intermediary sometimes, else he would have lost his mind already. 

Now, that task is relegated to Venus, and he doesn’t envy her for one bit. Because hey, he can solely focus on his photography now.

The sunlight streams in through the half-open blinds, casting stripped shadows across the room filled with schedules, sample prints, and colorful assortment of photo frames tucked in the dusty corner they haven’t found the time to clean yet. 

“Anyway, I’ve been holding you up for too long already, you should get going,” Venus says, leaning on her palm with a smile. “Say hi to Belle for me.”

“It feels like you’re kicking me out,” Wise replies lightly, hanging his camera around his neck and slinging his bag on the right. He hides a snicker behind his hand when Venus huffs out loud. “Come visit us sometimes, Belle said she missed Mochi.”

“She missed Mochi, but not me, huh?” Venus puffs her cheeks, purposely making them as big as a blowfish. “Fine, I’ll see if I can bring my kids to your house this weekend.”

“I’ll be sure to tell Belle about it then. We’ll have to prepare Eous just in case he gets chased by Pika again.” This time, it’s Venus’ turn to snicker while Wise huffs. 

He pauses mid-way from craning the door open, looking back over his shoulder. “Also, make sure, you’re not home too—” 

“—late.” Venus finishes his sentence for him, cheekily waving one hand. “Yes, yes, I hear you. Be safe on your way home as well, Wise.” 

Wise shakes his head, a resigned smile sitting on his face. With that farewell, he closes the door behind him and continues down Lumina Square.

By this hour, when the sun is dipping beneath the horizon and golden light spills over the darkening shadows, the usually bustling street is even more packed with people, filled with life until it's bursting at the seams.

Rowdy chatters from students returning from school. The faint smell of heat patch when a business woman walks past him. A group of children laughing in the midst of chasing after a toy plane flying high above them.

Suffice to say, Wise is surrounded by photo subjects he could just nab without looking. But the sea is filled with fish, and too many fish to choose from only cause his brain to short-circuit. 

He never knew New Eridu had this many people in the first place.

Eventually, Wise manages to stop a few people who catch his eye. After getting their permission, he guides them to spots that best match their style and vibe the most. Then, he directs them through a series of poses, capturing each moment with practiced ease. Once the session ends, they exchange contact numbers so he can send their photos later.

What Wise doesn’t expect out of all this process is that… he’s actually enjoying himself.

Maybe it's because they're strangers. There's no weight of expectation, no pressure to deliver perfection. He isn’t the designated photographer, nor is he bound by the whims of the people who know him well enough to demand more. 

The anonymity is freeing, which means he can lose himself in his art, instead of worrying what would the other party think. A brief introduction, a couple of clicks and they're on their merry way—nothing too complicated nor energy draining.

Still, as he bids farewell to the girl—Corin, as she shyly introduced herself— wearing a stylized maid outfit while carrying a mind-boggling chainsaw, that nagging feeling in the back of his mind lingers.

For someone who doesn’t take many people’s pictures, he should be satisfied. The framing is precise, the lighting balanced, the subjects expressive and relaxed enough to not look unnatural. He’s sure that Belle, with all her pickiness, would even praise him for the results. 

Wise sighs, face morphing into a faint frown, as he looks through the photos. 

What is he missing?

A loud bark, not too far from where he’s sitting, catches his attention. 

His eyes widen. 

A man is crouching in front of a golden retriever, sunset and towering trees serving as his glorious backdrop. The sunlight plays a leaf-patterns across the crease of his jacket, staining his dark hair, where a glinting pair of shades sit, into a warm bronze. Red scarf flutters with each brush of the evening breeze. And yet, the boldness of its color is not what his gaze is drawn to.

It’s the bright grin stretching across his face.

Wise’s heart thumps.

That’s it.

Click.

The man looks up, hands pausing from where they’re ruffling the dog’s fur.

Meadow green eyes clash against seafoam green. The way the red pupils are trained on him makes Wise’s breath stutter, in fear or something else, he doesn’t quite know yet.

Wise scurries over without a second thought, clutching the camera close to his chest, an apology already tumbling out of his mouth. 

“I’m so sorry,” is what he greeted the man with. “My hands moved without thinking. I didn’t mean to take your photo without permission.”

The man stands up as Wise is speaking. And it’s only by his previous experiences of dealing with intimidating-looking clients that Wise doesn’t take a reflexive step back. 

The man is tall . A good one head taller than him, with biceps doubling, no, tripling, the size of his own. Even his pecs are in a different league in terms of how…plentiful they look. Broad shoulders taper off into a waist the size of his head, and leather pants hug a pair of thighs that could easily crush him if he ever wishes to do so.

But that’s not what flustered him the most.

It’s the way he’s still staring at him without saying a word. 

Wise’s face might be the epitome of zen outside. Years of professionalism has schooled him to look as calm as possible at any moment. Inside? Well, he’s having the biggest mental breakdown of his life.

“I can delete the photo if you want,” Wise offers with a disarming smile. Sure he will be regretful of losing quite possibly the greatest photo he’s ever taken. But if that comes with him being thought of anything less savory, well, he’d rather relinquish it.

To his surprise, the man shakes his head.

“It’s fine, you can keep the photo,” he says, a smirk playing on his lips. Somehow, he manages to make that expression look charming instead of cocky. 

Wise’s breath leaves him in an audible whoosh , his tension ebbing away with it.

“Oh, thank you so mu—”

“If I can have your number instead.”

Wise stares. 

The words take a few seconds to actually register in his brain. Because surely, he’s misheard that? Never in his life has a stranger asked for his number so brazenly like that. 

But no. The man is standing there, a smirk tugging at his lips, the crimson scarf fluttering slightly in the breeze, his shades now sitting precariously over his nose. His posture is relaxed, one hand tucked into his jacket pocket, the other still resting near the golden retriever, who is now sniffing curiously at Wise’s shoes.

“Sorry?” Wise asks, blinking rapidly.

The man’s smirk grows, like he knows exactly what he’s doing. 

“Your number,” he repeats, tilting his head slightly, amusement dancing in those striking green eyes. “That’s the trade. You keep the photo, I get your number.”

Wise opens his mouth. Then closes it. Then opens it again, but nothing comes out.

Is this… flirting?

It sounds like flirting. The smooth confidence, the playful glint in the man’s eyes, the sheer boldness of the request. But Wise isn’t sure. Maybe this guy has a weird sense of what is considered a trade. Or maybe this is his attempt to get his photo sent to him.

Oh yeah. That must be it. How could he forget about that?

“Of course,” Wise replies, at ease now that he knows the reasoning. “Can I have your number as well then?”

The man raises an eyebrow, looking pretty much taken aback, as if he wasn’t actually expecting Wise to agree, let alone returning the request back to him. But Wise is already pulling his phone out, tapping the ‘Contacts’ icon, then the small green plus sign at the bottom of the screen. He hands it over without a word. 

The man takes it while handing his own phone over to Wise, almost in a daze. Wise doesn’t comment on it, electing to focus on filling his contact information out. After typing his number in, he saves it under the contact name, Wise . Simple, straight to the point, missing his last name that had earned a couple of head turns when spoken in public. 

“I’ll keep in touch to send you the photo I took just now,” Wise smiles, eyes flitting to read the brand new contact on his screen. Lighter Lorenz. It oddly fits the man standing before him who suddenly looks a bit crestfallen. Wise doesn’t know what brings that on.

“And also…” he hesitates, but at the inquisitive tilt of the man’s head, Wise continues, “Would it be okay to take a couple more pictures of you?”

Lighter blinks, the gloomy aura around him dissipating in a blink of an eye. “I don’t mind. But I’m not a professional nor a model by any means. Is that okay with you?”

“Oh no, you don’t need to pose for me.” The golden retriever noses its way to his touch, and Wise smiles, running his hand through the delicate fur. “Just continue playing with this guy.”

As if sensing it’s going to be getting a lot of attention soon, the golden retriever lets out a happy yip, tail wagging so fast Wise can feel a slight breeze from it.

Lighter’s eyebrows, already raised in mild surprise, inch even higher—almost vanishing into his hairline. “Uh… sure?”

Wise merely smiles in response, and takes his seat on the white bench he previously occupied.

Lighter crouches back down, and the golden retriever doesn’t waste any time to approach him. Gloved hands expertly rub its furry ears. Once in a while, they switch to knead on its pudgy cheeks. 

Wise is not an expert on dog’s expressions, but he would like to think with tongue lolling out its mouth and eyes closed, the golden retriever must have been experiencing what is called a pure bliss.

Instinctively, Wise raises his camera, ready to take his shoot when he notices something.

Lighter’s face looks stiff, as if he’s caught between expressions, unsure whether to smile, smirk, or simply stare.

That’s a very familiar expression— one that afflicted all the people he stopped to get a photo off. 

“You don’t have to look so nervous.” Wise chuckles, settling back to his seat. “Just pretend that I’m a ghost, and you should be good.”

“How can I when you’re the one staring at me?” Lighter replies. With the way his shades conceal his eyes, Wise can’t see the emotions flickering behind them. Despite that, he can feel his piercing stare cutting deep into his soul. 

Wise fights the urge to squirm at his spot. Okay, he now understands the brunt of being under someone’s undivided attention. 

Due to the solitary nature that came from building a career by photographing landscapes, he rarely had an audience while he worked. Even when Belle tagged along, she was usually too distracted by the scenery to pay much attention to him.

“Fair enough,” Wise says after a long moment of deliberation, tilting his head. “I wouldn’t like it if someone stares at me when I work either.”

“That’s not what I—” Lighter cuts himself off, pushing his shades a bit too forcefully. “Never mind.”

“Okay?” Wise blinks owlishly, frowning a bit. There’s something he’s missing here and it has no correlation with that persistent nagging feeling. But he let it slide. “I’ve been curious. But is the dog yours?”

At that, Lighter seems to look troubled, hand absentmindedly tickling the golden retriever’s chin.

“Actually, no. The big guy approached me when I walked by the park earlier. I checked for a collar because he looks too well-groomed for a stray. Thankfully, he does have one, so I think he must have wandered off from his owner. I’m just keeping him company to prevent him from getting lost.”

All the while Lighter speaks, Wise notices the way his shoulders gradually drop until they return to the relaxed posture from earlier. Good, it seems talking does help to ease the tension. 

Honestly, it’s equally his fault for drilling holes through Lighter’s head. The sun is sinking and in half an hour, the world will be shrouded in darkness. Unless he wants to lose his precious chance, he needs to fix how he approaches this matter, fast.

Wise stands up from his seat, crouching down beside Lighter who freezes for a second. 

“You seem to be experienced in dealing with dogs,” Wise says, smiling in a way that even has Belle dropping everything in her hands to help him. “Can you teach me how to pet him properly?”

“Oh, I have a dog at home.” Lighter clears his throat loudly, scratching his flushed cheeks. For a brief second, Wise wonders if the leather jacket and the scarf makes the surrounding air hotter for the man. “Here, dogs love to be petted here.”

Lighter takes his wrist, and Wise lets him guide it to the exposed belly. Tentatively, Wise rubs the defenseless part, watching for the dog’s reaction. At the excited—and dare he say—encouraging yip, Wise puts more force to his petting, his smile widening in reflex.

How nice it is to not get clawed from rubbing a belly.

At his side, Lighter grins at him.

The man begins to rattle off other body parts that dogs like to be scratched, all the while guiding his hand from one spot to another—the head, the ears, the chin, the chest. Somehow it ends up with Lighter listing off the dietary restrictions for dogs and how some unreasonable owners don’t even know such things. Wise listens, attention drawn to the excited glimmer in his eyes. 

His own heart thumps.

There it is again. 

Click .

Hearing the sound, Lighter falters for a moment, looking at him curiously. Wise smiles, mouth already opening,

“And why is chocolate bad for dogs?”

That sets Lighter off in a tangent of how a dog’s body is built in a different way compared to humans: what they lack, what superior skills they have, and how amongst other things humans have better color vision. Wise, captivated as he is, continues to listen, asking questions to not let the flickering fire die down. 

Click. Click. Click.

At some point, Lighter must have realized what he’s doing. Even with the fanfare of flashing shutters crowding him, he continues, stopping only when the dog nudges both of them out of the way (because they’ve been hogging the sidewalk oops) to settle below a tree. 

Wisps of clouds catch the remaining golden light, their edges glowing with soft pink, gradually fading into regal violet tones. The deepening purple stretches across the upper sky, swallowing the last traces of blue. The air is thick with warmth, the breeze cooling, and under Lighter’s clever hands, the dog dozes on his lap. 

Wise watches the soft curls of his lips, the dimples he only notices because of how close they are, the playful narrowing of his eyes, and comes to one conclusion.

He truly has a beautiful smile. 

“Lighter.”

Lighter turns his head.

Click. 

Wise grins at the befuddled expression on Lighter’s face.

But he doesn’t get to explain himself when a loud, happy yell surprises him.

“Muno! I swear I should have never taken my eyes off you even for a second.” A bewildered-looking woman rushes toward them, a leash in hand. “I’m so sorry if he has been bothering you. ” 

Muno immediately springs awake from where he’s sleeping, dashing into his mother’s open arms with an excited bark, as if he didn’t cause her to run laps around the park in search of him.

“Don’t worry.” Lighter chuckles, standing up while patting the blades of grass off his clothes. “If anything, I’m surprised at how well-behaved he is. You did a good job training him.”

“Thank you.” The woman puffs her chest out, a beaming smile on her face. Wise’s fingers twitch to take a picture. “We’ve been together for so long, I take pride in the things he does that bring me joy and headache.”

Lighter nods sympathetically. “I get that. Unfortunately it comes with being a pet owner…”

Wise stands at the side, warmth swelling in his chest at the increasingly passionate exchange. If he takes another couple more photos after that, well, he’d be lying if he said his camera wasn’t directed at Lighter.

After bidding farewell to the owner (and giving a good head rub for Muno), the man found Wise already smiling at him, his eyes soft.

“You sure love dogs, huh.” 

The streetlight has begun lighting up one by one. Despite that, Lighter’s shades are still firmly attached to his face. A shame. Wise likes the brilliant green of his eyes.

“Well,” Lighter coughs, tugging his scarf up to hide the faint blush on his cheeks. “It’s a given if you want to take good care of something, no? To know everything about them so you could give them the best treatment as they deserved.” 

Wise closes his eyes, and briefly reminisces about all those hours spent perusing through cookbooks because a still growing Belle deserves homemade meals to bring to school. 

“Fair enough. I see your point.”

As if Belle knows she’s being mentioned in some capacity, his phone buzzes inside his pocket. No doubt filled with requests for tonight’s dinner. 

“Thank you for letting me take your pictures today, Lighter,” Wise says, his fond smile melting into a warm one. Lighter stares. Wise fidgets with his camera straps at that reaction. “I’ll be sending you the results hopefully later tonight.”

“No problem. It should be me thanking you for listening to my rambles.” Lighter looks away for a second, the tips of his ears red. When he turns back to him, a smirk is back on his face. “If you want to take more pictures of me, feel free to hit me up.” 

“Thank you for the offer but…” Wise shakes his head, “I would hate to trouble you when we don’t know each other very well.”

“Then, you’ll be less reluctant about it if we get to know each other more, right? Want to hangout this weekend? I just think that you're cool.”

Wise blinks. Huh? Huh?? Huh??? Him? Cool?

Seeing his dumbfounded expression, Lighter looks satisfied with himself, like a cat who got the cream. Wise has this distinct feeling he’s paying him back for what he did earlier. 

“You have my number anyway, Wise,” Lighter continues lightly, his smirk widening. “Just tell me if you’re up for it, okay?”

With that parting words, the man swivels on his heel, and saunters away.

The words lingers even as he reviews the photos later that night. 

His fingers move instinctively, adjusting brightness, tweaking contrast, fine-tuning details until each shot looks as effortless as the moment it was captured. The moment he reaches Lighter’s photos, however, his hands still.

It feels…wrong to alter them.

Leaning back in his chair, Wise scans the portraits on his screen, his eyes flickering in quiet contemplation.

Every time he had pointed his lens at Lighter, it had been on a whim— a direct consequence of the wonder bubbling inside him. The very same wonder he felt with that fleeing black cat, that plum blossoms tumbling down like drunk bees, that first streak of light piercing the dark during the Cretan Meteor Shower.

A desire to freeze the fleeting emotion in a single frame. 

He widens his eyes.

That’s it. That’s what he has been missing in recent years.

Wise doesn’t jump, but he nearly slams his knees against the table in his rush to grab the mouse.

‘Don’t turn your hobby into a job, you’ll treat it just as another work’ is what they said. 

Wise had scoffed at that idea. How could he ever lose his love for photography? 

But maybe somewhere along the way, in the midst of fulfilling the demanding request of clients, in the midst of meeting people’s expectation of his work, he had stopped clicking the shutter for himself.

His grip on the mouse tightens, the cursor hovering over Lighter’s photos.

For a long moment, he just stares.

The composition isn’t perfect. The lighting could be better. Some are not totally in focus. Yet that’s not the most important thing. It was the rawness of it, of being something unpolished and unabashedly honest, of stealing a piece of Lighter’s smile and preserving it forever.

They aren’t curated, posed or meant to impress.

They just are .

Wise exhales, a slow release of something he hadn’t realized he was holding onto, and saves the photos as they are. In all their imperfection, in all their realness. 

It will be good if he can take more pictures like this.

He glances at his phone. 

Wise
Hey there, Lighter
This is Wise
I’m here to send you the photos I took today
[Lighter Lorenz 20XX-03-07.zip]
Once again, thank you for letting me trouble you

Much to his surprise, Lighter’s replies come immediately.

Lighter Lorenz [9:46 PM]
Again no problem
Thank you for the photos by the way
All those shots look good wow

Wise smiles, warmth filling up his chest.

Wise
Thank you. That means a lot
I don’t usually photograph people so I’m a bit worried if they come out okay

Lighter Lorenz [9:48 PM]
You don’t usually take people’s pictures and these are the results?
How amazing would it look if you often took one then?
🤔

Wise doesn't expect the use of emoji. Yet somehow, it oddly fits the gradually forming puzzle of the man in his head. After all, no matter how fierce they look, a tiger is still a cat. 

Wise
Your words are too nice
But yeah I was wondering

Wise hesitates, long enough that Lighter’s message pops in first.

Lighter Lorenz [9:55 PM]
Wondering about what?

Wise breathes in. Out. 

Here goes nothing.

Wise
If your offer to hang out still stands?
Totally fine if you don't want me to take any pictures though
We can just hang out like normal friends would

Whatever Lighter’s answer will be, Wise will respect it. 

He’s also half-tempted to flip his phone over, just because he doesn't want to see what the answer will be. But he's not a coward.

Lighter Lorenz [9:56 PM]
Like I said I really don't mind it
It already makes me happy that you want to hang out
And seeing the photo I can only say
Take as much as you like 

Relief floods him, whirling in his chest alongside the lingering warmth from earlier. 

Wise
That’s great to hear
I hope you won’t get tired of me shoving a camera in your face

Lighter Lorenz [9:57 PM]
Never 😎
It already makes me happy that you want to hang out
Would this Sunday work?

Wise smiles at the emoji, and ponders for a moment. 

Belle would probably complain about him ditching her. But he’d rather let the two girls bond without him in the picture. He can’t—won’t—ever be able to handle their energy in the same room together. Not to mention the additional force of four high-strung pets.

Yeah, he’d rather ditch.

Wise
Sure, I’m okay with it
Is there any particular place you want to go?

Lighter proposes a couple of places to go: the Outer Ring district where Lighter lives (much to Wise’s intrigue), Port Elpis, and Reverb Arena—places that Wise hadn’t gone to for quite a while now but still thought of fondly.

It’s late at night when they finally settled on their destination. Wise mentioned jokingly that he wanted to go to all these places and suddenly, their destination for next week and the week after that was decided. He didn’t know Lighter is this eager to hang out with him. Surely he’s not that cool?

As Wise lays in his bed, the trepidation that usually follows after planning an outing is mysteriously gone. Instead, hopeful excitement fills him. 

He could always snap other people’s pictures while they’re doing their activities, just to give Lighter a break. There’s bound to be lots of people fishing in Port Elpis. Or some unlucky souls getting their fries stolen by the suspiciously crime syndicate-looking seagulls. Oh, or maybe the sailors would be willing to demonstrate how they navigate through the roaring seas. 

Maybe Lighter will be willing to try new stuff, see if that will bring the excited glimmer in his eyes. Would he be patient during fishing? Would he send him that bright grin at a successful catch? What face will he make if the seagulls steal his fries right in front—

Wise snaps his eyes open, blinking at his ceiling in a daze.

Is this what it feels like to have a muse?

Suffice to say, Wise had more photos of Lighter than he knew what to do with. 

Coupled with the fact that he’s also going around taking people’s pictures, Wise became intimately aware just how fast he could fill his memory card storage up. He didn’t mind. He could always buy more memory cards. But precious, transient moments never came twice—irretrievable without a lens to capture them.

And he’s been making lots of them with Lighter.

“Do you want to take a break here first, Wise?” 

Standing several steps above him, Lighter stares at him, concern clearly evident from his face. 

The sun is unrelenting above them, beating the ground in an excruciating swamp of heat. The usual cooling breeze is nothing but the barest wind that shivers the leaves slightly. It’s a good thing that he’s decided to forego his usual jacket, else he’d shrivel up. Even Lighter had opted to ditch both his scarf and leather jacket.

Wise wipes his sweat, breath leaving him in loud pants, knees already horribly weak.

How did he manage to hike the Dead End Mountain at 3 in the morning without preparation again?

“Yeah,” Wise sucks in a deep breath, the air feels scorching against his dry throat. “I need that. Time to give Red Moccus some water as well, right?”

Meanwhile, aside from the faint flush and sweat trickling down his cheek, Lighter doesn’t look the slightest bit perturbed. Not for the first time, Wise wonders if he could just steal a bit of that stamina. He’s pretty sure a gym instructor doesn’t need that much anyway.

“About time, yeah,” Lighter pops open a collapsible water bowl from his bag, pouring water into it. Red Moccus immediately dives in, tail wagging, not caring if his fur is wet as a result. 

Wise takes his own water bottle, gulping it down like a dehydrated man, which he is one currently.

Lighter stares. Eyes covered by shade or not, Wise can see the pure amusement dancing behind them.

“Didn’t you say you go on hiking a lot before?”

“And feels like dying every time,” Wise mutters, offering his water bottle at Lighter. The man takes it wordlessly. Wise doesn’t comment on the bottle hanging off Lighter’s backpack. “I’m not built for physical activities.”

“Like what I said before, the gym is always open.”

Wise takes a seat on a nearby flat rock, sighing. “I will die.”

Not only because of the rigorous training, but also Wise knows he won’t survive a loose tank top Lighter. He has a functioning pair of eyes and his job has made him prefer aesthetic-looking things. Lighter is handsome, with a roguish charm to him that makes people think wrong of him. Cute dimples. Beautiful smile. An extremely well-built body dripping with sweat…

Yeah, he’d settle on hacking his lungs out while hiking instead. No gym for him anytime soon.

Lighter shrugs. “Well, suit yourself. I can always help if you want.”

Wise makes a noncommittal noise before rummaging through his bag to take out his camera. Red Moccus is currently making an interesting expression, and he needs to capture that right now.

From the corner of his eyes, Lighter is sending him one of those soft smiles, where his eyes crinkled at the edge, the crease between his eyebrows smoothened, and his lips curl into a tender curve—a face he unknowingly makes when he watches him. 

(Despite Wise still being under his undivided attention, it feels different, way less intense. As if Lighter doesn’t want to let him know that he’s staring.)

Curiously, this time, it’s accompanied by a tilt of his head, like he’s trying to figure him out.

A sudden idea pops in his head.

“Do you want to try, Lighter?”

The man blinks, clearly not expecting to get addressed. “What?” 

“Taking a photo.” Wise smiles, handing his camera over to him, eyes gleaming. “I’ve taken too many photos already. So, it’s your turn this time.” 

Lighter hesitates for a second, but he gingerly takes the camera into his hold. “I like seeing you in your element though.”

Wise’s heart thumps at the words, and he wills it to calm down. There’s no use getting excited by that.

“If you think flattery will distract me, then you’re unfortunately very wrong, sir,” Wise says instead, a smile creeping up his face. Lighter returns it with a grin of his own. “Now, you’ve seen how I hold my camera, right? Left hand to support the lens, right hand to grip the camera. ”

Wise tells him a couple of basic things: setting up the aperture, the commonly known Rule of Third, and how as a newbie, it’s totally fine to let Auto-Focus do its job. You don’t want to stress yourself out by learning complicated things right from the start. 

So for Lighter’s first photo subject— the rows of trees standing right in front of them.

“Look through the viewfinder,” Wise instructs, carefully guiding the camera to its supposed location. “Also, don’t hold my camera like it’s going to break any seconds. It will only make the camera unstable.” 

Wise gently takes Lighter’s fingers, pressing them one by one until he deems their grip sturdy enough. “You can tuck your elbow closer to your body for more stability. Just like that, yeah. That pose looks great.” Wise takes a step back with a proud smile on his face, “Remember to half-press the shutter button to lock the focus in before pressing it fully.”

“Last thing.”

Wise chuckles, noting the flushed tips of Lighter’s ears.

“Don’t forget to breathe. You’ve been awfully still.” 

Lighter exhales shakily, as if he finally allowed himself to breathe. His fingers flex slightly around the camera before settling again, his grip a little more assured.

“Alright,” he mutters, his voice lower than usual, maybe from concentration or something else Wise can’t quite name. “Let’s see what I can do.”

Wise watches as Lighter angles the camera toward the rows of tree ahead. His movements are careful, deliberate. But there’s a certain familiar stiffness to it, the way his shoulders remain squared, how his grip, despite Wise’s adjustments, still carries a lingering hesitation.

It’s endearing.

Lighter stays completely still for a second longer, then finally presses the shutter button. The soft click echoes through the quiet woods.

He lowers the camera, tilting it to check the preview on the screen. His brows furrow. “...That’s kinda bad.”

Wise steps forward, peering over. 

The photo isn’t terrible, just a little off-balance. The trees lean awkwardly to one side, and the focus landed on a stray branch instead of the path leading into the forest. But there’s something there—an attempt, a choice in perspective.

“Not bad for the first try,” Wise hums, bumping his shoulders lightly against Lighter’s arms. “You’ll get the hang of it. Try again.”

Lighter glances at him, searching his face for something, before nodding. “Alright.”

A second shot. A third. Then the fourth. Then the fifth.

The photos are of varying quality. Some have better composition, others are wrecked with lighting problems, almost all of them are out of focus in one way or another. It’s too early to say if Lighter has an instinctual feeling for photography or not. In the grand scheme of things, however, that doesn’t matter. Wise can feel the quiet determination of someone who’s trying to get better oozing from the pictures.

And that’s enough. 

Wise doesn’t realize he’s smiling until Lighter turns to look at him, the corner of his mouth twitching upward.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Wise says, shaking his head. “Want to change the subject to Red Moccus this time?”

Red Moccus perks up from where he’s laying down, ears swivelling toward their direction.

Lighter sighs, but he’s already angling his camera toward the shiba inu, lips pursed into a concentrated pout. Frankly, the man has no business being that cute. Why did he think he was intimidating again?

“Practice makes perfect, isn’t that right?”

Wise’s smile widens. “You got that.”

The results are not as bad as the landscape photos. Since Lighter’s focus is narrowed to a single subject, the composition is more balanced. It also helps that Red Moccus is such a good boy. A sharp ‘Stay’ from Lighter and the dog doesn't move for one bit.

The photos are still a bit out of focus, blurry at the edges. Yet Wise can feel the dripping adoration Lighter had for his beloved pet.

“You're getting so much better already,” Wise says, pleased, staring at the panting, positively excited Red Moccus on the preview screen. “Good job.”

“I owe it to your careful teaching, of course,” Lighter answers cheekily, despite the faint blush on his cheeks. Wise lets out a fond huff. “What's my next subject then, my great teacher?”

Wise takes his seat back on the flat rock, gesturing toward himself.

“How about me?”

Click. 

Not even one second passed from when the suggestion left his mouth. It's as if Lighter has been waiting for that set of words all this time.

“Well, that's fast,” Wise comments, blinking rapidly. “You certainly don't take your sweet time.”

To his credit, the man does look sheepish, even with the confident smirk he puts on. 

“I’m simply eager to show off my skills further,” Lighter replies, a bit too sweet, a bit too rushed. It feels like a well-planned excuse.

“Let me see the result then—hmm?”

Wise blinks once more, staring at the picture of himself, stunned.

The quality of the photo is suddenly insane?

Despite the quick snap, the photo is crisp, the focus sharp—centered on Wise’s seated figure. Sunlight filters through the leaves above, scattering dappled patterns across his body. The muted background light softens the harsh edges of his form into something ephemeral-looking, as if his very existence can only be captured in that single moment alone. With the way the shot is framed, he looks less like a mere mortal sitting on a piece of rock and more like a forest nymph basking in the sun.

He can feel heat rushing through his cheeks.

Is this how Lighter sees him? 

…Yeah, he’s not going to open that can of worms just yet.

Lighter clears out his throat, a bashful smile on his face. Wise can see the soft swish of his imaginary tail, eager to get a praise out of him.

“How was it?”

Wise looks at him, looks at the preview, then looks back at him.

“It's…good.”

Good is an understatement. But when you’ve been rendered speechless by a breathtaking show of skill, sometimes a single word is the only thing you have to describe the swelling emotions inside.

There’s no way someone could improve in a single take. It must have been a fluke, right?

Except it was not. 

They continued their hike shortly after, eager to arrive at their destination when the sun was still high up. The place where they took a break was already at the halfway mark. In fact, it wouldn't be long until they reached the summit. But the increasingly treacherous and winding path makes exhaustion set in faster. 

In between taking shorter breaks, Lighter kept taking pictures. 

Normally, Wise will be ecstatic. It’s one thing to rope someone into his interest, but it’s another to have the person he can now consider a close friend actively engage himself with it. Not only that, he can clearly see Lighter is enjoying himself. 

It’s just…somehow…all the pictures that Lighter took look off in one way or another. Be it the composition, the angle, the focus, there’s bound to be one aspect that has horrendous results.  But the moment the subject was him, Lighter became a professional model photographer with twenty-years under his belt and countless galleries vying for his photos.

As much as it amused him to no end, it also stumped him. Wise has never seen something like this before. 

His confusion is momentarily forgotten upon reaching the summit, eyes looking down to drink in the scenery. 

The Lemnian Crater is a resulting scar from the Lemnian Meteor Shower thirty years ago. Back then, what remained of the mountain it decimated was layers of rugged rock and grey terrain—a festering and ugly wound. 

But now at its heart lies a shimmering lake, a polished mirror reflecting the clear sky. Its surface is a mesmerizing mixture of turquoise and emerald, shifting with the angle of the sun. Around the rim, wildflowers and slender blades of grass sways with the breeze, their vibrant hues defiant against the barren rock. 

Thirty years might be long for humans, but for nature, the act of changing their very face is a simple snap of the fingers. And isn’t that what makes him fall in love with it? The fleetingness of the world?

Lost in his own transfixed awe, Wise doesn't even register Lighter until his voice reaches him.

“Wise.”

Wise turns his head. 

Click.

For a second, Wise can only blink dumbly.

Did he just?

“Did you just?” he whispers. 

Lighter grins, lowering the camera enough for Wise to be able to see the preview of the screen. 

The composition is nothing but an absolute work of art. Overhead, the sky stretches vast and endless, a brilliant expanse of blue. White cotton candy-looking clouds linger near his head, acting like a shade from afar. Below, the crater unfolds like a hidden masterpiece—the sparkling turquoise mirror, streaks of yellow and pink petals creating a stark contrast against the lush meadow surrounding it.

And there he is, at the right side of the frame, smiling at the camera. Strands of silver hair flutter when the breeze picks up, framing his delicate face. A slight confusion is visible from his expression, yet it doesn’t dampen the excited glimmer swimming in his eyes. 

Wise, once again, feels heat rushing to his cheeks.

“I’m satisfied now. I get to see the world through your lens.”

That successfully snaps him out of the photo-induced shock. 

Lighter’s grin has mellowed into a soft smile that sent Wise’s heart skittering like a spooked rabbit. 

“I get to see you.”

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and with every shot of him reminiscent of an oil painting fit for the gods, Wise now has a profound understanding of how Lighter sees him—with unguarded wonder and quiet reverence, as if he is something sacred.

And what is he supposed to do with that knowledge?

“You did,” Wise says weakly, hand coming up to cover his flaming face. “You did. You’re very clear about how you see me.” 

Lighter chuckles, the sound low and warm, tinged with a hint of playfulness. “It’s a payback.”

Wise sighs, fingers brushing against his pocket where his phone is kept, the incriminating image set as Lighter’s contact picture. “For that dumbfounded look of yours before?” 

Lighter shakes his head, turning away to stare at the view instead of him for once. Wise’s camera hangs around his neck, his posture loose as if the act of capturing him has been the one thing he’s been eager to accomplish the most.

“For how you look at me all this time.”

Wise freezes, mind flashing through the myriads of Lighter’s photos in his collection. 

Lighter takes a step closer, his shades sliding off his nose to give Wise a front-view of the delighted gleam in his eyes.

“I know I'm not the most approachable-looking guy out there. With how I dress and my physique, being seen as intimidating is something I no longer bat an eye on. But you…” Lighter looks at the view, then back at him, eyebrows knitting like he's trying to figure him out. 

“You look at me like I'm a precious thing, like the last remains of sunset you do your utmost best to grasp, like someone you can't help but adore .”

‘If you want to learn what someone fears losing, watch what they photograph.’ 

But Wise thinks there's another sentiment to this saying.

If you want to know what someone yearns out of their reach, look at what fills up their photo albums. Look at what brings them warmth and joy, even in the loneliest of nights. Look at what makes them stay wide awake, with brilliant ideas floating through their head.

Look at who the camera stands as the silent witness for.

Wise’s eyes soften, smiling as the answer tumble out of his mouth with ease.

“You’re my Muse, how could I not adore you?”

At that, Lighter’s face turns into the prettiest shade of red that never fails to make Wise coo in his head.

“I’m your Muse?” he whispers, clear disbelief in his tone. Yet at the same time, there's the unmistakable trace of hope clinging to it.

“With the amount of pictures I have of you? Of course.” Wise chuckles, fingers tenderly reaching out to brush Lighter’s fringe out of his face. “Admittedly, I did find you intimidating at first. But I know someone with a smile as beautiful as yours can't possibly be a bad person.”

“You can't just…say things like that.” Lighter looks positively like he might expire at any moment. It worries Wise for a bit.

“What’s wrong with stating the truth?” Wise raises his eyebrows. 

Lighter makes a noise akin to a dying whale.

“....Because you're gonna give me the wrong idea.”

“Turn that wrong idea into the right idea then.”

“Then…” Lighter swallows visibly before taking a step closer. Closer and closer, until Wise’s hands are engulfed within those large, calloused hands. Lighter touches his forehead to his enclosed fingers and prays.

“Then, let me be your one and only Muse, now, tomorrow and forevermore.”

And how is Wise supposed to say no to that?

“I should be the one asking you that, Lighter.” Had it not been for how his hands are firmly trapped, Wise would have squeezed Lighter’s hands. He does the next best thing— butting his forehead lightly against Lighter’s head, and smiles.

“Don’t get bored of me waking you up at four in the morning to rave about the latest scenic spot we should visit.”

Lighter squeezes his hands, butting his head to his before touching their forehead together with the largest grin on his face.

“More time to spend with you is always a joy, sweetheart.”

It’s only by Red Moccus barking at a bird perching on a tree that Wise is successfully reminded of his initial goal to reach the summit. If he doesn’t want to repeat the hike again, then he needs to extract himself from Lighter’s hands quickly.

“Maybe I should take the part of you being my Muse back, you keep distracting me.”

Wise has never seen such a crestfallen look on someone before. Lighter’s face crumbles like a wet sheet of paper, lips pulled into a wobbly line. He’s looking up through his eyelashes and if Wise doesn’t know better, the unshed crocodile tears look way too real for comfort. Imaginary dog ears droop low and his tail is tucked between his legs.

Wise feels like he’s bullying a poor dog. 

“I’m kidding, puppy.” Wise pecks Lighter’s nose. “I’m sorry.”

“You better be,” Lighter mutters, not even trying to hide the satisfied curl of his lips.

Wise laughs, and laughs until his cheeks start to hurt.

“Mr. Arna, a moment to answer some questions, please!”

Wise glances at his side to regard a woman currently jogging to catch up with him.

Belle had told him he walks fast in general, frequently leaving her in a dust, but during his own exhibition? Well, he made sure not to stop even for one second to avoid the swarm of hyenas who love to ask privacy invading questions.

Ah. Wise blinks after some careful scrutinization, familiarity dawning. She’s one of the few reporters who actually ask well-thought questions.

“Yes, of course, Ms. Valliere.” Wise smiles, slowing his steps down to a stop. He waits until she can properly catch her breath.

“Thank you! I wouldn’t be taking too much of your time. So, I’ll get to the point.” The woman takes out a recording from her purse, pointing the device at a respectable distance from him. 

“First of all, amazing work as usual,” Wise murmurs a soft ‘thank you’. “I can’t help but notice that the theme of today’s exhibition is a bit different from your normal style. Even the Ballet Brothers are left perplexed.” 

Ms. Vallerie fixes her glasses, a determined glint in her eyes.

“What makes you decide to choose ‘Glimmering Light’ as today’s title?” 

“Well.” Wise glances at Venus who’s currently engaged in a conversation with a new client no doubt. As if sensing his stare, Venus turns around to flash him a victorious smile. Wise shakes his head fondly. 

“My manager suggests that I should broaden my scope of skills, use other people as a source of inspiration this time, you know?” 

Wise’s eyes drift off, surveying through the crowd to search for that flash of pine green hair. 

“So, I did. I walked through the street and realized that the lights you see above the sky, the glimmers found reflected off the lake, the shimmer of the seafoam…”

And there, under the convenient shade where a wall bends in an awkward angle, Lighter stands, staring at him with those brilliant meadow green.

Wise smiles. 

“...can also be found within one’s eyes.”

Wise turns his attention back to Ms. Vallerie who’s craning her head to see where he’s looking.

“Would that answer suffice?”

The woman blushes as if embarrassed that she’s caught being nosy. “O-oh yes! Of course. You have a poignant answer like always. Mr. Arna! For the next question…”

Not long after, Ms. Vallerie thanks him for the interview before scurrying off somewhere. With the thinning crowds, Wise takes his time to stroll around the lobby of the Ballet Twin Tower, appraising his own works.

The first section showcases his usual photo subjects—breathtaking landscapes, golden hours spilling over wildflowers, the still hour where the world is asleep and the sky opens up in its glory. 

The second section, where it normally houses oceanic landscapes, is filled with momentary glimpses of the human experience instead. Bright-eyed people brimming with the passion to live. Stolen laughter. Hands reaching for one another. Fleeting emotions frozen in time. The vibrance and rawness contrast the serenity of the first section, yet both feel connected, as if telling a singular story.

As for the final section…

“I didn’t think you’d put your own photos up there.”

Wise doesn’t have to look to know who slid into his personal space. 

“I just don’t want your smiling face to be plastered everywhere,” he replies cheekily. “Those are for me to enjoy personally.”

Lighter bumps his shoulder, a visible pout on his face. “And you’d think I’d be fine seeing your smiling face everywhere?”

“I’m not even smiling in any of these photos.”

“You get my point.”

Wise chuckles. Laughing is easy when Lighter’s around, and the man always seems to preen at being able to elicit that sound from him.

“Thank you for your help once again, Lighter. I don’t do self-portraits. But since I have my own designated photographer now…”

Wise reaches his hands out to squeeze Lighter’s cheeks.

He grins.

“Might as well, show the world how adored I am, no?”

At the very end, displayed separately from the rest, is a single black-and-white photo.

—Wise, sitting on a high stool, a bouquet of flowers resting gently in his hand, his hair partially slicked back while the other half falls in soft waves over his forehead. There’s no smile—his expression remains unreadable, almost serene. And yet, despite the impassiveness, no one can possibly mistook the dripping adoration out of his eyes for the one behind the camera.

Beneath it, reads a simple caption:

"I see you."