I’d finally scrubbed the kitchen, top to bottom, within an inch of its life.Skyler had kept me company on FaceTime, telling me how his and Robin’s road trip adventure to Seattle had gone, and how—since his old crush hadn’t been there this time—Delia and Matt were planning on driving down to California for Friendsgiving.There was something strangely Zen about listening to teenage problems while ridding the baseboards of unspeakable grime.
After hanging up, I took a deep, calming breath.On paper, handling Armand’s social media accounts and curating content was a piece of cake.Part of being chronically online meant I could filter and hashtag in my sleep.The problem was I’d severely underestimated just how unaccommodating Armand would be about the whole thing.Even capturing a handful of day-in-the-life shots of him on the floor working had been like pulling teeth, as he would be tense and awkward and unnatural the whole time.Candids would be preferable, but in an apartment this size there was nowhere to hide.Not that Armand didn’t try.
I’d done what I could indoors—it was time to take a field trip and grab some natural light.
As Armand drove us to our first location, I reviewed the saved photos I’d been using as inspiration, namely Patricia Yang’s entire catalog.I kept coming back to her portfolio as a reminder of what someone could accomplish when it came to portraiture.Armand deserved nothing less than my best effort.
“Y’know, I’m pretty sure this constitutes kidnapping,” Armand grumbled as I directed him to pull over at The Regent’s Park instead of at the restaurant that I’d told him we were going to.
“Don’t be ridiculous, you’re a fully grown adult.I man-napped you,” I teased.“You may attempt to try and sue me later.”I had to all but drag him from the car.At my insistence, Armand had put on passably respectable clothes, which sure, would’ve worked great for a nice lunch at Carluccio’s, but it would work even better for me to snap headshots.
“No one wants to see my bloody face!”Armand protested as I ushered him into something resembling a natural pose against the backdrop of the Avenue Gardens.
“First of all, that’s a hot lie.”I smoothed Armand’s wayward hair away from his forehead.“And second of all—” I broke professionalism long enough to sneak a soft kiss onto Armand’s questing lips.“So there.”
Then I stepped back, holding up my camera and flashing Armand a grin.“Now, if you could look off to your left and hold that position.”
Armand did not hold that position—he fidgeted and shifted and did literally everything to look as awkward as humanly possible.
At some point, the photos I’d managed to get were as good as they could be given the circumstances.“Okay, that was the last one.I mean it this time.”I stifled a laugh as Armand visibly deflated with relief.
“That was horrid.”He slumped into my arms and buried his face in my neck.“You’re a menace.”
“Says the man who nearly climbed an entire tree to avoid a camera in his face.”I poked his side, evoking a strangled squeak.“But I got some good ones.I regret to inform you, despite your best efforts, you’re shockingly photogenic.”
Armand could not have looked more disappointed with himself.
All things considered, it was a workable amount of content, at least in a visual medium.Which was a definitive step up from Armand not being successfully captured on film.But Armand the person was still a mystery to his fans, which meant that nabbing photos of the man was the easy part.
He’d been patient with me as I’d insisted on a touristy drive around the city, snapping photos of famous landmarks—because why not—and was both embarrassed and fond as I attempted what he’d deemed an atrocious British accent.It wasn’t until we (to Armand’s palpable relief) returned to his apartment that it occurred to me that maybe I could use London’s damp and downright gloomy weather—despite being summer, for god’s sake—to my advantage.
“You know,” I pointed out once we’d stepped inside, “you can’t avoid being interviewed forever.I am not so easily defeated.”
He melted into the couch, offering me a pout.His eyes dropped from my face to where my fingers fiddled with my scarf.“Wouldn’t be so sure of that.Not much to me—still waterscanrun shallow.”
“Nah.”I’d kicked off my shoes by the door but didn’t move closer yet.My heart pounded—this would be something new, something different, something I would’ve never dared try with Darren.I swallowed past a dry throat and reached for my ever-flickering courage.“How about we make a deal.”
He raised a gorgeous dark eyebrow.
Here goes nothing.“I’m going to ask you some questions, and for every answer you give that I deem acceptable, I’ll take a layer off.”
Armand choked on nothing.“W-what?”
“You heard me.”Now I did step closer, coming to rest in front of Armand, my lower back brushing the card table.I pinched the edge of my scarf.“So.Lowball question.Have you always lived in London?”
Armand was already blushing.“Yes.Er.No, I was born up North, but we moved to Islington when I was about nine.”
It was the first direct answer he’d given so far.I smiled to hide my nerves, and tugged off the scarf, watching Armand watch it drop to the floor.“So, was it hard being the new kid?”
Armand visibly swallowed.“No more than anything else.”
I playfully narrowed my eyes.“That’s not an answer.I mean was it hard making friends?Were you popular?”For good measure I unzipped my jacket but made no move to push it off my shoulders yet.
Armand picked at a couch cushion.“I’m sure this will come as a surprise, but I was.Actually.I’m one of those horribly tragic people who peaked in primary school.”
I snorted.“Right.You definitely seem like a has-been third grader.”I shifted enough for the jacket to slip off one shoulder, then the other.We were down to my button-up, undershirt, and Chinos—I needed to choose my questions wisely.“Can you tell me about your parents?”
Armand shrugged, which was a nonchalant gesture marred by his eternal blush.“I, er, never knew my mum, actually.And my dad’s a clown.”
