I rushed around the moderate space in a frantic state. My hands constantly busied themselves moving lighting, even if only an inch, adjusting backdrops, setting up my camera. I had been here for over an hour already, meticulously going over every tiny detail in preparation for the biggest, and without a doubt most nerve wracking, shoot I had done yet.
The title of 'biggest' photo shoot was easy. This project dictated my future, both in this program and college, and possible career opportunities after graduation. Since graduation was only mere months away, the pressure was on to produce the best work I could in a relative short time frame. The fact it had taken me nearly three weeks to even get to this point in this assignment was daunting, and I knew I had no time to waste in getting the first few preliminary images completed, edited, and submitted.
The aspect of this being the most 'nerve wracking' shoot I had done was left solely on the shoulders of the subject. Harry had agreed to pose for me, despite the fact I knew whole heartedly he did not want to participate in this venture. I knew his agreement probably had something to do with my tears and overall pathetic demeanor that afternoon he had run into me in the hall after class. With my tear stained cheeks, swollen eyes and snow soaked jeans, I was a sad sight.
But regardless of his reasons, he had agreed. And as much as I had expected him in the days following to back out, he hadn't. He had stood by his word to pose for me, just as I had stood by my word to ask no questions. It was his one, simple request. And if I wanted to ensure he did in fact follow through with his side of this agreement, it was the least I could do.
But my mind was racing with questions nevertheless, even if I was forbidden to ask them. Why had he agreed? Was it only because I was such a pathetic little thing with my wet pants and hopeless future? Was it because of my repeated subtle mentions that he was still, despite hours of attempting to find a new subject, the only thing that captivated me enough to want to photograph? Thought after thought ran through my mind leading up to today, the day we would shoot in the small school studio, finally capturing the first few images that would begin my project.
Harry and I had exchanged numbers that afternoon after he had agreed to help me. I had learned, after he typed his number into my phone with a slight frown, that his last name was Styles. Harry Styles. It was quite a pleasant name, the more I said it over in my mind. We had exchanged the occasional message in the following days, mainly confirming the whens and where's of our shoot, and what was expected of Harry. I could tell even via text that he was nervous, and did my best to assure him.
All he had to do was show up. I was just hoping I had the nerve and skill to make the rest happen.
This morning I had awoken even before the sun. The light in my room was dim, mainly from the streetlights outside my window casting a faint yellow glow over the shadowy items in my room. Usually, my body would reject such a wake up time, rolling over and falling right back into a peaceful slumber. But this morning was different. It was like my mind, and body, knew how much was riding on today.
I laid in bed for hours, going over various poses, lighting, and other options that I could use with Harry during our shoot. Beyond just the attractive subject, there were many aspects one needed to pay attention to if they wanted to create a good image. You could have the best photograph in the world, subject wise, but if the lightening was absolute shit, casting shadows over the eyes or losing details in the face, you lost all credibility.
I knew beyond all my worrying, the biggest issue would be Harry himself. I could plan and prepare and set everything up perfectly, but it was up to him to evoke that 'something' that had drawn me to him in the first place. I had seen glimpses of it on occasion since that first meeting, that moment I had caught him by surprise in the library. But it was fleeting, and natural. Being in a studio, in a contrived setting, may be difficult beyond just his own reservations. Surely, he would spend the entire time thinking about whatever it was that held him back from being on the receiving end of a camera lens. But what expression would those thoughts produce?
Finally, hours after my eyes had opened and my mind had become busy, I pushed out of bed and got ready for my day. Since I had plenty of time, I took a nice long shower, trying to use the warmth of the water to sooth my nerves and ease the tension in my shoulders. It only partially worked. I dressed slowly, again my mind pulled away to the coming hours and how to make the most of what was literally a make or break situation between us. I braided my long blonde hair into a plait down my back, dabbing some lip balm over my lips to protect them against the dry winter air. Throwing my photograph gear over my shoulder, I made the long walk towards the studio.
This was where I stood now, busying myself randomly with little details that really were only to try and distract my mind. Harry was due to arrive any moment, and I was anxious at what his mood would be. He was sweet and intriguing at times, but could flip on the turn of a dime to a moody, angry, mercurial man. I couldn't fathom which I would be greeted with when we started, but had a pretty good feeling which I would have to contend with near the end.
The door behind me pulled open suddenly, breaking me from my internal worrying. I turned to find Harry stepped inside, his brown jacket over his shoulders, his hands shoving deep into his pockets. His face was tense, his bottom lip pulled tightly between his teeth. We hadn't even started yet, and he looked ready to bolt.
Turning to him, I forced a warm smile. I didn't want him to know I was as nervous as he was. "Hey."
Nodding, he released his lip from his teeth. "Hey."
He stepped up to me, his face relaxing slightly when he looked at me. Raising his eyes, he looked around the room. Taking in the backdrop, the strobes, the lighting and the camera, his face hardened, his eyes closing for a moment.
In that moment I would have given anything to know what he was thinking. Yet another Harry Styles secret that I was not privy to.
Opening his eyes after a deep sigh, he looked back down to me. I could tell he was nervous, and he didn't speak. I knew it was going to be up to me to guide him, to support him and encourage him through this. He was doing me a favor, one I knew he was greatly opposed to. The least I could do was try and make it easy on him.
"You ready?" I asked, giving him another warm smile.
Harry snorted, a little chuckle escaping from deep in his chest. "I think you already know the answer to that," he grinned. "But let's get on with it."
Pulling his jacket from his shoulders, he tossed it on top of my own on a desk to the side of the set up, before turning back to me. He wore his signature black jeans, the tight fabric making his long legs look even leaner. Over his torso was a black t-shirt, fitted to his chest, showcasing his inked arms. It was still cool outside, the weather not quite forgiving enough for such a lack of covering. But as I looked him over, my mind was consumed with thoughts of what he was hiding, and for some reason I found his choice of clothing to be perfect. Dark, simple, but casting a sense of mystery that always equated such colors with a wounded bad boy vibe.
I lead Harry over to a stool in the setup, watching as he easily perched on the top. Stepping back in front of my camera, I looked him over carefully to adjust the light. His eyes were locked on me as I moved a strobe, or angled a reflector. His gaze never left me once as I moved around him. Once I was satisfied, I turned back to him.
"So, what do you want me to do?" he finally asked, his fingers twisting nervously in his lap.
I grinned at him, moving to step behind my camera. "I'm just going to take a test shot, okay? Just to see if I have to change anything else with the light."
Harry nodded, still seemingly unsure, as I leaned down and looked through my viewfinder.
Some people had the ability to look even better through the lens of a camera. While others seemed distorted, a twisted version of themselves that never seemed to fit who they really were, others looked at home on film, their photogenic qualities immediately evident even before the first click of the shutter. Harry was one of those people. As he sat in front of me, nervously twisting a ring on his index finger, I found myself captivated by him already. And I hadn't even taken a picture yet.
Clicking the shutter, I looked down to the playback on the back of my camera. Thankfully, the lighting seemed perfect, and I wouldn't have to prolong this back and forth with Harry any longer. We could just get started.
"Looks good," I mused, looking up to him. He still hadn't moved a muscle, other than his fingers still twisting his ring methodically.
He looked terrified, his body rigid and tense. His eyes would occasionally flicker to the gear around him, and I could tell he felt out of his element. I admittedly felt guilty for putting him in this situation, but knew in my selfishness, I wasn't going to let him off the hook yet. I needed him.
But the least I could do would be to set him at ease.
"Thank you for this, Harry," I said, bringing his attention to me. "I know how uncomfortable you must be."
He smirked, his eyes dropping down for a moment. He muttered to himself, and I could only faintly hear him. But I think he said 'you have no idea'.
Choosing not to address his comment, I began the shoot. I could direct Harry as I needed, angling his body, dipping his chin. His gaze to the camera was intense, his green eyes burning into me as if he was willing me to understand him. When he let them fall to the floor, I found myself lost in him, the angle of his jaw and the tilt of his head.
After twenty minutes, I let Harry take a break. Immediately, he stood from the stool, stretching his back.
"Thank god," he muttered. "Fucking stool is making me ass go numb."
I snorted as I looked back over the images I had taken through my laptop. My camera was directly wired to my laptop, giving me a larger and truer feedback of what we were able to produce.
He was stunning, I had to give him that. Despite his obvious discomfort and hatred in front of the camera, the camera didn't share that distaste. He was incredibly photogenic, and I found myself smiling at some of the images we had taken already.
As I went through them a second time, my original feeling of happiness began to fade. He looked tense, uncomfortable and withdrawn. And with the exception of one image, where his eyes were cast downwards to the floor, not a single one spoke of secrets or produced the expression I was hoping for when choosing him. Despite his physical appeal, not a single image bar one was going to work for my assignment.
I glanced to up where Harry wandered around the studio, looking at some of the gear with mild interest. He seemed a little more comfortable now that he was not blatantly in front of a lens, his eyes gentler and his posture more relaxed.
I frowned. This wasn't going to work. I was such an idiot. He hated his picture taken, and here I bring him to a studio and throw him right into his own personal nightmare. And in that I expect to get something from him other than fear and walls?
Fuck.
I had to think of something else, and fast. As I scrolled through the images for a third time, I knew this wasn't going to work. Putting a man like him in a contrived studio was absolutely the wrong way to go, and I had just spent a week wasting time on it since that was how long it took me to get this studio time with the school.
FUCK!
I found myself panicking, realizing yet again how close my deadline was. I was not quite as lost as I had been, since at least now I did have my subject, and it was the person I had wanted all along. But I was nowhere near producing the quality of work I had imagined in my head, and I had no idea how to fix my predicament.
Glancing to Harry again, I found him leaning against the side of a window, his gaze out onto the street below him. His hands were in his pockets, his shoulder resting on the window frame as I watched the people below us. The light caused a sharpening of his jawline, a brightening of his eyes.
But what was more, was the look on his face. It was that look. The one I had seen in the library that day, and I had been needing from him all along. I had no idea what he as thinking, but whatever it was produced everything I required. He looked forlorn and sad, his mind a million miles away.
It struck a cord in my own mind, questions immediately asking why he would look like this. What happened to him, someone so young, to make such a lost expression? How could someone so attractive, look so torn?
Quickly and quietly, I detached my camera from my tripod. Feeling like a sniper of sorts, I moved silently towards him, angling myself to just the right spot. I knew I had one chance to get this shot before he noticed me. And once he noticed me, again taking his picture in a sneaky way, he would probably turn into the unhappy, teeth gritting version I had grown to know.
But in my mind, for now, it was worth it.
I moved around quietly, Harry seemingly oblivious to my presence as he was locked away in his own thoughts. Moving my camera to my eye, I adjusted my focus, zooming in to a three quarter shot.
Click.
Immediately, Harrys eyes moved to me, the expression gone.
I dropped the camera quickly, an apologetic expression already on my face.
"Im sorry," I said immediately.
His jaw tightened, his shoulders tensing as he pushed himself off the window. He said nothing to me, simply glaring silently. I, too, said nothing, knowing there was nothing I could say to change the fact I had yet again caught him in a vulnerable moment. The sad part was, I wasn't even sorry.
His eyes fell, his hands rubbing over his face.
"I'm sorry," he muttered. "I'm horrible at this."
My eyes widened, surprised at his words. "No! No, Harry you're not. This is my fault, I should have known that putting you in a freaking studio would make you uncomfortable. This is my fault completely."
His eyes lifted from the floor in front of him to my face, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Wow."
"What?"
"Never thought I would hear a girl say something was her fault before. Not sure how to feel about that." He teased.
I tisked him, rolling my eyes, causing him to snicker. The tide shifted between us yet again, from angry to calm, just as it always seemed to.
I needed to keep this calm, relaxed version of Harry. And this studio wasn't the place to do it.
Slinging my camera over my shoulder, I reached back for our jackets, tossing him his.
"Come on," I said, moving to pull on my coat.
His eyes widened, his jacket in his hands but not moving. "Where are we going?"
"We're going for a walk."