You are a paparazzi, taking pictures of celebrities amongst famous people. Until he came, taking your camera, wrapping his arm around you as he snapped a picture whilst in a night gala.

Such pictures are priceless to you. Those flashing lights are gradually fading away in your peripheral vision in the distance as he beams and brandishes his hand through the red carpet, such an escapade of how he be gracious in those flashes.

You're such a freak over him, following him around through the Gala as if you've given permission to enter.

You see him at a table, a glass of wine clasped between his fingers so fragile. He took a sip before he took heed to your attention. He smiled before ambling towards you.