Drew had that effortless cool about him—like he never tried too hard, never rushed, never let anything faze him. But if you knew him well enough, you’d see the way he paid attention. How he caught details no one else did.

Like now. Sitting on his balcony, the city stretching out below, he had a can of Coke in one hand and his camera in the other. You weren’t even looking at him, but you knew. The quiet click of the shutter gave him away.

You sighed. “Really?”

No answer. Just the ghost of a smirk as he adjusted the settings, like he had all the time in the world. That was Drew—pushing buttons just enough to be annoying, but never too far. He never asked questions when you didn’t want to talk. Never pushed. But he was always there, always watching, waiting for the moment you’d snap out of whatever was weighing on you.

The sun dipped lower, casting warm, golden light over everything. He still hadn’t said a word. Just leaned back in his chair, hoodie loose, camera balanced on his knee like it was second nature.

You gave in. “Let me see.”

A beat. Then, with that same unreadable look, he turned the camera around.

The shot was good—of course, it was. He always knew exactly when to take it. You, caught in a moment you didn’t even realize was happening. Less posed, more real.

Drew didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. Just set the camera down, knocked his Coke against yours, and went back to whatever thought was floating through his head.

Like always.