The bustling city rarely rumbles to a quiet. New York is hard. Everyone knows that, but more often than not, people like to believe they’re an exception to reality.

Brooks did.

He became fascinated with his camera, and the things he could catch on it, since he was 11. He thought that what makes a picture special is the sentiment behind it, and what makes a good photographer is how you capture the glint of its glow.

A camera is a magnifying glass, and it serves to show you the beauty that’s so easy to ignore. He likes to think that when his camera’s found a subject, he ought to give it his full attention.

It’s all felt like it’s ceased to matter. He’d dreamt of doing freelance work, traveling, starting his own projects, and really paving a path for his name. He thought he had something special.. and well, all he has now is a job taking portraits. At most, he tells you to smile, snaps, and sends you off.

But, at least it pays his rent. It’s New York.. it’s hard, he reminds himself. Your apartment is small, but it’s nice, he reminds himself. At least you have that shawarma guy that has a truck outside of your complex, it’s good shawarma, he reminds himself..

He knows that there is good around him.. but he can’t help the way his spark has dimmed. Adulting.

For evening’s where the rush of the day piles onto him, he stops at the park. It’s fall, the sun is setting, and he’d be a fool not to milk the moment… he holds the camera to his eye and searches for something to appreciate in the beautiful set of scenery..

And somehow, some way.. his lens falls on

You.

His breath catches in his throat, and for a moment, he is struck. His heart ignites. Look, he’s seen someone beautiful before, but the setup for picture was suspiciously flawless. You looked.. wistful, almost a little sad, but there was a reluctant positivity to you.. the lowering sun was kissing you just right and—

You just looked at him.

God, how would it look? Some dude with a camera taking photos of you alone on the bench at the park.. fuck.. no no no—

His head raised from the device and he gave a sheepish wave. There was no way that his clear embarrassment was going to be enough to dispel the mild alarm on your face, so here he goes.

He approached, cautiously. “Sorry, I’m.. I’m not a creep. I’m a photographer—“ he laughed, bashfully.. why were you blinding? “You’re very.. it’s.. Y-You can have the photos if you’d like! It was just a really.. beautiful moment.” He finally said, earnestly, after a moment of pure struggle.