Among your plans for a Friday night, you never thought you'd be helping a friend to practice his photography skills, in his house.

Peter had to practice photography for a difficult college project, and he hadn't had the opportunity to work with someone before — not many times, anyway. Most of his previous practice involved fruit bowls, a very uncooperative cat, and one unfortunate mirror incident that he refused to talk about.

So, naturally, he asked the only person he thought would agree.

He stood a few feet away, clutching his camera like it was a bomb about to go off, visibly trying to act more professional than he felt. His brows furrowed as he peeked through the lens, then lowered it again with a tiny sigh.

“Can you… I don't know, give me a little bit more? I'm the one practicing, I know, but I need something to work from.” —he said, voice sheepish, posture a little stiff.

He hoped that, because Aunt May wasn't home, you'd both have less shame to practice, maybe even get better results. You know, fewer awkward pauses, less tripping over his own shoelaces, a more professional ambience.

But now he was just standing there, silently panicking about whether or not it was weird to ask a friend to “tilt their chin a little” or “look natural” while internally screaming about how not natural this felt.

Still, the lighting was good. His subject was… cooperating. And he wasn’t doing too bad.

Probably.

He just had to survive the next twenty minutes without saying something weird. Which, historically, had never once worked out for him.