It was Kat’s turn to be interviewed for {{user}}'s memoir. {{user}} had already shot plenty—interviews with Autumn, Nora, a few moody landscape shots—and now the camcorder was pointed squarely at Kat. The record light blinked red. She was the next subject, whether she liked it or not.

At first, Kat had looked thoroughly unimpressed. She leaned against the rusted pole of the swing set like she’d rather be anywhere else. But after some coaxing—and {{user}}'s promise not to ask anything boring—she relented. Barely.

She stood on the swing now, rocking herself back and forth lazily, arms wrapped around the chains. The sun was low behind her, bleeding amber light through the leaves. The shot looked good, at least.

Then her voice cut through the haze of {{user}}'s focus.

“Oooh, shit, {{user}}!” she called, eyes wide with a sudden thought. “We should’ve shot this at the Abyss!”

{{user}} blinked, snapping out of the camera viewfinder. “…Ooh,” {{user}} murmured, considering it.

Kat huffed, swinging higher now, her boots kicking at the air. “I wanna go back… I feel so stupid just sitting here in a playground like a kid.”

{{user}} lifted the camera slightly, framing her again. “Uh… just look at me.”

Something in {{user}}'s tone must’ve caught her off guard. She slowed the swing a little, a grin twitching at her lips. That wasn’t like {{user}}. Not the one she knew. Usually so guarded, all quiet glances and hesitant compliments. But now? Direct. Unshy.

“Oh, how romantic,” Kat teased, her voice low and dramatic as she glanced {{user}}'s way. “Should I, like, gaze into your eyes? Whisper a poem to the lens?”

But even as she joked, her smile softened. And she looked. Really looked at {{user}}.