A/N: I'm so unbelievably sorry it's taken so long to update. Sometimes after I've written a chapter, it takes a couple of days of not looking at it to be able to go back and proof it. Hopefully I'll be able to do better in the near future!
.
.
It's been two weeks since you bailed on your appointment. Two weeks since you told your parents. Two full weeks of trying to schedule a check up with your doctor, and two weeks of Sebastian practically living with you to make sure you don't need anything. The entire time had been a glorified hormonal roller coaster, one moment you're almost looking forward to this, the next, you are waiting for something to happen that will change it all back to how it was.
Meanwhile, Sebastian doesn't take it personally when you check out, he just sticks close in case you need him, but gives you your space. He intercepts phone calls or texts you don't want to handle just yet, letting folks know you're alive but keeping all the details under wraps.
You've decided to wait to tell any of your friends until you see your doctor. You're mom had a point, anything could happen in the first two months that could cause the whole thing to be a false alarm, so it would be best to keep it quiet until everything was certain.
Lately he's been noticing more brooding and less mood swings,
"What's going on?" He finally asks you one morning. You haven't touched your breakfast, but you just blame it on morning sickness. Though at this point you're not even sure if that's true.
You shrug in answer.
He regards you for a moment, suddenly jumping up and grabbing your hand.
"Come on." He pulls you into your bedroom, ignoring your protests and nudges you toward your dresser, "Get changed, we're going out."
"Out where?"
"Just out. You need fresh air. Maybe we'll go to the park, maybe a bookstore, maybe we'll stop for lunch, or a movie, but we're going out."
"Seb I don't want to go out. I'm tired."
"You're tired because you need to get out."
"That doesn't even make sense."
"Yes it does. Now get changed."
After some more grumbling about not wanting to leave, he picks out some clothes and practically starts undressing you before you stop him.
"What? It's not like I haven't done it before." He jokes, waggling his eyebrows at you.
You press your lips into a line.
Don't smile. Don't smile. Don't smile.
You turn your back to him to hide the smirk you can't suppress and you start to change.
When you turn back around, you're impressed to see he has his back to you, giving you some privacy.
You clear your throat behind him, getting his attention,
"So where are we going first?"
.
.
.
You could honestly kick yourself for waiting so long to do this. In light of everything that's happened recently, then with how busy work had been before that, the last time you even had time to go out and just photograph everything you saw had to have been months ago. You hadn't realized how much you missed it.
Just before leaving the apartment, Sebastian produced your camera case from behind his back saying he found it in your closet when he was putting blankets away a few days earlier,
"Couldn't just leave her there, she was screaming for exercise."
"She?" You chuckle, he shrugs,
"She, he, it, they... Whatever, we're going on a shooting spree." He says with a wink. Three hours later, you're both resting under a tree in the middle of Central Park, comparing pictures, you on your camera, him on his phone,
"Why did you take so many of me?" Sebastian asks, looking over your shoulder,
"I didn't mean to," you laugh, "you photobombed be at every turn." He presses his lips together to suppress a smile, but you hear his near-silent snickering,
"Oh wow, that's a great one." He whispers to himself as he scrolls through his own pictures. You try to look at it over his shoulder, but he keeps angling the screen away from you,
"Come on! I showed you mine!" You whine,
"You won't like it."
"You won't know that until I see it."
"With this one, I know."
You finally wrestle the phone to a better angle and see a picture of yourself. You're backlit, with trees and the skyline behind you. Even through the shadows cast by the lighting you can see the small smile on your face as you're squinting one eye shut, focusing your camera on something out of frame, likely across the park. Your hair caught up in a breeze.
You have to admit it's a good shot,
"That's actually a cool glare effect. Try for a prettier subject next time, though."
"Not possible." He says, just softly enough that you know he's completely serious. You look at him sideways,
"You're never changing my mind about that." He insists with a laugh, going back to scrolling through his shots,
"At least it's a close up and you can't see anything below my shoulders." You grumble,
"There's definitely nothing wrong with the rest of you, I can tell you that much."
You roll your eyes and shake your head, but Sebastian looks at you for a moment, apparently considering something,
"You're going to hate this question... But what happened that you can only see negatives when you look at yourself?" You sigh, not wanting to touch on that particular subject. The thought of talking through any issues right now just makes you want to go back to bed and never get up,
"You're right, I hate that question... And it doesn't matter." You reply shortly,
"It really does. You're gorgeous and you can't see it. I want to know why."
You try to ignore him, not wanting to get into something so touchy, especially while your emotions are so out of control.
"Maybe I don't want to talk about it. It's such a gorgeous day, and we were having so much fun, why ruin it?"
You turn back to your camera, trying to think of anything else, though you aren't actually seeing your pictures anymore. You're remembering the unflattering, offhand comments you'd get about new haircuts, the sometimes less-than-subtle remarks about how a certain dress or pair of jeans fit, the suggestions of going on a diet or just cutting back on how much you were eating. Sometimes the remarks came from so-called friends, sometimes from boyfriends. Any time they got you down and you went to your mother, she would try to encourage you, telling you the opinions didn't matter, how you felt should be your guideline, not what other people saw.
It never quite worked for you. So you gave up, resigning yourself to being overweight, or out of shape - whatever anyone wanted to call it. It always translated to "ugly, unwanted, and disposable" in your mind.
"Hey, come on, come back." Sebastian interrupts your thoughts and pulls you sideways into him, almost into his lap, as he kisses the top of your head.
"I get it if that's something you don't wanna talk about... I just don't know how you can't see what I see."
"Like what?" You groan,
"Your eyes. Your smile. Your hair."
"You mean the dingy-colored, crooked, and frizzy beyond control parts of me?"
"I mean how bright your eyes are when you're setting up a shot, or how they shine when you're joking around. Your contagious smile that always reaches your eyes... Not to mention hair that always - even first thing in the morning when it's sticking up every which way - looks so soft it makes me wanna bury my face in it."
You don't hear anything forced in his tone as he lists these ridiculous things that you see as some of your glaring flaws, instead seeing them as the greatest parts of you, describing them with an excitement that is almost bubbling over. You have to gulp at his sincerity.
"You can't see any of those details in a backlit picture."
"I can. It's a picture of you. Those are all parts of you. And you... Are beautiful." He almost sighs the last bit,
"You're biased."
"Nope... Maybe a little. But it is true." He turns on his phone's front camera, and his screen is suddenly taken up by the two of you, him holding you close, resting his cheek on the top of your head. He snaps the picture before you can stop him, then looks victorious that you didn't manage to block the shot.
"Come on, man, delete it." You groan,
"No! It's a great picture. And it's my phone."
"It's my face."
"I won't post it anywhere, how about that?"
"How about you delete it?"
"How about no?" He shows you the picture, "Y/N this is a good picture of you."
"No such thing." He makes you look at it anyway, and despite your reflexive cringe, looking at the picture, you're struck by how relaxed you look. Maybe your hair isn't quite as frizzy as you thought; your eyes aren't shining, but maybe you could admit that they aren't exactly "dingy".
It wasn't necessarily as bad as you may have thought, though you would never admit it.
"I'm telling you, this one's a keeper." He said, quickly setting the phone as his lock screen before going back to his pictures and scrolling some more. You look at him thoughtfully, before humming out a sigh,
'A keeper, huh?' You think, watching him scrutinize his photos, 'Maybe this one is.'
