“I want to remember this,” I said. “Not the violence. The moment after.”
His brow furrowed. “You want pictures?”
“Yes.” I swallowed. “If you’re okay with it.”
He studied me for a long moment. Finally, he nodded once.
“Okay.”
The word sent a ripple through me.
I raised the camera and framed him where he stood—half in shadow, coat gone, sleeves rolled just enough to show forearms that looked like they knew exactly what they were capable of.
Click.
The sound was loud in the quiet room.
He shifted slightly, not posing, just existing. Watching me watch him.
Click.
“You’re dangerous,” I murmured, half to myself.
“So are you,” he said.
I lowered the camera just enough to meet his gaze. “Come closer.”
He did.
Not all the way. Just enough to change the frame.
I backed toward the wall, lifting the camera again, my spine brushing cool plaster. He stopped when his body was a breath away from mine, close enough that I could feel heat without contact.
For one dangerous second, I imagined him naked in front of my lens—not posed, not performing. Justthere. I imagined stripping him down to truth: the lines of his shoulders, the way strength lived quietly in his frame, the marks the world had left behind.
I wanted to photograph the contrast—the discipline and the damage, the control and what it cost him. I wanted to catch the way his body held itself even in stillness, like it was always ready to move, always prepared to act. I’d shoot him in shadow, light grazing muscle, never revealing everything at once. A collarbone. A hip. The tension in his hands. Proof of a man who didn’t exist to be consumed, only witnessed.
The kind of naked that wasn’t about skin—but exposure.
Click.
My breath came shallow now. I lowered the camera again, my fingers trembling.
“Your turn,” he said quietly.
“My turn?”
“To be seen.”
The words made something inside me crack open.
I hesitated only a second before handing him the camera.
Connor took it carefully, like it mattered. Like I mattered.
I stepped back into the light, suddenly aware of my body in a way that wasn’t critical or cautious. My dress skimmed my hips. My hair fell loose around my shoulders. My pulse thudded loud in my ears.
I didn’t pose.
