Forget Photographs : One Shot

I leaned in a bit closer to her, watching the many people pass us by. It was cold out, but not cold enough to warrant us being so close. How many of them thought we were friends? How many of them knew we were lovers? How many of them smiled at the thought? How many of them were revolted? I wouldn’t like to say my thoughts were depressing, but they put a frown on my face.

“Hey, what’re you thinking about?” my girlfriend whispered in my ear. Her hot breath sneaked beneath my scarf to give my skin actual warmth instead of just protection from the cold that was.

“I was just wondering… How many of them look at us and see just friends?” I said softly. I felt her move closer, inevitably removing the last small bit of space between us.

“How many of them matter?” she asked, her voice just as soft as mine.

“…..None,” I said. It wasn’t that I thought nobody else was important, but nobody else was important when it came to our love for each other. Naturally, that’s what she was pointing out to me.

“Then stop frowning and look at me, not at them,” she said, placing a feather-light kiss on my ear. I did as she requested, first smiling to myself and then turning my head to look at her. She was perky. Pretty. Perfect. And she was mine.

“Hey, girls! Sorry I’m late!” came a call from across the street. We both looked up and over, catching sight of our friend. He was a photographer, and that was the reason we were even here. We weren’t models, no, but we served that purpose for him whenever he had inspiration to do a personal collection of shots.

“No problem, Mike! Nanao and I enjoy sitting on a bench in the middle of the city freezing our asses off for two hours straight!” my girlfriend called out as she stood up. I didn’t stand, my limbs being quite deeply asleep from sitting for so long. My face, however, was not asleep, so I easily rolled my eyes at my girlfriend’s antics.

“It isn’t that cold, Treya. It’s more the sitting for two straight hours that gets me,” I said. With a sigh I dragged myself to my feet now, managing to get my body to reawaken just as Mike reached us.

He grinned as Treya tossed her blond-and-violet-streaked hair in a very snotty manner. “What the Hell took you so long?” she demanded in the most upset manner she could manage. She wasn’t really all that mad, but she couldn’t let this go without putting on a little show.

“Oh, well, the signing at my brother’s gallery took longer than I expected. Sorry,” Mike said. He shifted the equipment he carried slightly, showing he was having a bit of trouble holding it all right now. I wasn’t the only one that caught that movement and that meaning—Treya caught it, and she was going to use it as payback.

“Well, if that’s the case, you might have called us to tell us you would be longer than expected. Instead, you very insensitively allowed us, two beautiful and fragile women, to sit out here in the cold for two hours. You can’t call yourself a man after that!” Treya exclaimed. People were starting to stare now. I had a feeling now that they thought something not-so-legal-or-clean was going on here.

At the stares I started to slouch down and hide behind Treya a little. I didn’t mind people glancing as they walked by, but people actually stopping to stare made me nervous. “Um…I hate to interrupt…but can we just go?” I asked weakly. Two more stares aimed my way from Treya and Mike.

“Yes, please, can’t we go?” Mike seconded quickly. I’d bet money that all that equipment was feeling pretty heavy.

“….Hmph. Fine. But don’t think I’m through with you, Mike. You’re not being forgiven so easily as that,” Treya said. She spun around and grabbed me by the hand, marching off with me in tow. Mike sighed to himself and followed after us as fast as he could while carrying so much. Normally we would have helped him, but normally he didn’t leave us out in the cold quite literally.



I stood there with my arms wrapped around myself, bouncing up and down a little as I tried to keep myself warm. Mike was setting up with Treya’s help and without mine, since I was prone to electrocuting myself accidentally. Normally I would mind not being allowed to help, but right then the only thing I minded was the cold. Why the Hell, after two hours of being outside, did the shoot have to be outside as well?

“Treyaaaaaa, I’m coooold,” I whined. I knew she was too busy to do anything about it, but I seriously needed to whine. Saying what was bothering you aloud really did help, even if it was only something this small.

“Tell that to Guy Bourdin here,” Treya said, tossing Mike a dirty look. She was cold too, it seemed.

“Actually—“ Mike barely got his first word out before he was cut off.

“If you make one comment to correct me, I’m going to kill you. I called you Guy Bourdin, so you’re Guy Bourdin,” Treya growled out. She was definitely more than a little cold. Extreme temperatures made her act out. Given, it wasn’t extremely cold, but after being outside for so long it felt that way.

“Guy Bourdiiiiin, I’m coooold,” I whined, trying and failing to keep a smile off of my face. Treya went to throw a dirty look my way, but when she saw my smile she couldn’t help but smile and shake her head. She could be mad at me, sure, but not when I was smiling like that.

“Oh! Hey! Nanao, lean back against a tree like that and keep smiling! That’d make a perfect shot! It shows signs of you being effected by the cold, but still has that radiant smile to show you're happy and enjoying yourself! It’s brilliant! You’re a genius! I’m a genius!” Mike exclaimed. He immediately dropped what he was doing and began digging through his cameras for the right one.

“Try egotist,” Treya muttered beneath her breath.

“Hellu~?” Mike, Treya, and I all stopped and looked in the direction of the accent. Beautiful blue-tinted, silvery hair. Beautiful baby blue eyes. Beautiful everything. She was a model. A real one.

“Anya! You’re here! Thank you so much for coming!” Mike exclaimed. He once again dropped what he was doing, this time to rush over and shake the model’s hand quite warmly. He had invited her? Why? He never used any models but me and Treya for his personal projects, let alone real, professional models.

“What the Hell?” Treya said. One hand flew to her hip and rested there in a pissed off manner, even as her other hand hung limp and she leaned her body to the side and tilted her head as though trying to see the model from a different perspective so that she could comprehend the girl’s presence.

Mike released the model’s hand and turned to face us, not picking up on the fact that Treya was none too happy and I was…well, also none too happy. “I’m sorry! I forgot to tell you, Anya is going to be in this shoot as well!” he said, gesturing to the model, “Oh, and Anya, this is Treya and Nanao, my good friends.”

“It’s a pleesure,” Anya said with a smile. That accent had to be fake. It didn’t sound like any accent I knew.

“But you never use other models in your personal shoots…” I said. I didn’t want to offend Anya, but I was really confused.

“Ah, I guess I forgot to explain better over the phone. You see, while this is a personal shoot, it’s also a business commission. A man from a magazine got a look at some of my personal shoots with you two, and he just loved it. He said he would love if I’d do some shots with you two for his magazine. I asked Anya to participate as well because she’ll add a more professional touch to the shoot,” Mike explained with a smile. That smile wouldn’t save him from Treya, though. Unlike me, she didn’t mind offending Anya.

“Forgot to explain? You forgot to explain something this important? Who even says Nanao and I want to appear in this stupid magazine? If we wanted people to see us modeling, we’d become models! We only agree to do these shoots with you because you said they were just for yourself! We’re doing this stuff to help your creativity, not your publicity! And we don’t work with anyone else!” she shouted furiously.

Mike’s smile was gone now. “What? But, Treya, this is the opportunity of a lifetime! Businessmen from magazines don’t just walk up and ask to work out a deal with photographers like me everyday! The only magazines I get published in are ones where my friends work! Besides, if you do this, you might actually become models!” Mike exclaimed. He was trying to reason things out, but nothing he was saying was going to help any.

“Damnit! I just said if wanted to become models, we would be! And I also just said we don’t do these shoots of yours to help you get published and shown around! If you want to do this shoot, you can go ahead and use Anya, because Nanao and I won’t do it!” Treya shouted. She crossed her arms across her chest to show the conversation was over. By Mike’s silence, I realized he wasn’t going to argue more.

He looked so defeated and sad, though. Before I knew what I was even thinking about, I was saying it. “It sounds like this might actually be a little fun,” I said thoughtfully.  Now I was being stared at again. Oddly enough, I didn’t wish I’d kept my mouth shut like I normally would wish when being stared at.

“Na…Nanao, you’ve got to be kidding me,” Treya said, her voice disbelieving as was her expression. She knew me well enough to know that I’d normally shrivel into nothingness at the thought of being put in a magazine for hundreds and even thousands of people to stare at.

“Why must I be kidding? ….I’d like to see you in a magazine. I’d probably buy as many copies as I could get my hands on,” I said, touching a finger to my lip thoughtfully. Mike saw his chance and jumped on it.

“You wouldn’t have to buy any! You’d definitely get all the free copies you wanted! And, of course, you’d both get paid! It’s not like this would be done for free like usual!” he exclaimed all too excitedly. Anya was just watching in silence, waiting for this to be resolved.

“As many free copies as I want…?” I both repeated and asked. I chewed on the finger I’d put to my lip, picturing my room filled with copies of the magazine as I sat there staring at Treya in it. That actually seemed kind of dirty. A blush came to my face, and I was suddenly aware of the fact that I was still being stared at.

My eyes went to Treya instinctively, and I could see her beginning to blush as she watched me blushing. She may not have been thinking of what I was, but she was certainly thinking of something dirty as well. “Alright, I give. We’ll do it, damnit,” she said, hanging her head in defeat. Whatever she had imagined had given her reason enough to agree to this.

“Perfect! This’ll be great! I promise you two won’t regret it!” Mike exclaimed. He flounced back over to the equipment to finish setting up.

“This weel be funne indeed,” said Anya. That accent was still totally fake. I wondered if she always used it.



Many, many hours later, I had learned that Anya did, indeed, use that accent of hers all the time. So maybe it wasn’t fake, but it sure sounded that way. Despite the accent, though, Anya was actually very nice and sweet. Treya had always told me professional models were stuck up and bitchy, but Anya didn’t act like that at all. Actually, it was Treya who was acting that way…

“Well, it’s about time we finished. I have now spent eight solid hours out here in this cold, thanks very much to you, Mike. I do hope you have everything you need for this magazine, because you aren’t getting anything more from me,” Treya said is a very snotty tone, which happened to be a tone she’d used to entire shoot.

“It wasn’t so bad. The lights sure made it warm…” I said softly, trying to be positive.

“No, they made it warmer, but they didn’t make it warm. And my God, I can’t believe we actually had to change a few times. Serious-fucking-ly, what I really can’t believe is that we had to do it behind a tree,” Treya said. Her words were no longer directed at Mike, but they were still meant as verbal assaults to him.

“Ie think it wos nut su bad,” Anya said. She was the professional model, so that automatically meant what she said was true. Or so I would assume. Treya, however, wouldn’t accept that, mostly because she wouldn’t accept Anya.

“No, it was bad. Really bad. Seriously, Mike, it’s no wonder you don’t get approached by men from magazines every day. This was totally a low-rent operation. Even in your normal personal projects we at least get to change behind something better than a tree. I mean, my God, man, what were you thinking?” Treya said, returning to directing her hateful words directly at Mike.

“We should go to dinner! Someplace warm, I think,” I blurted out randomly, just trying to save Mike from Treya.

“Ie om a bit hungery,” Anya said thoughtfully.

“I’ll pay,” Mike offered weakly. He just wanted Treya to stop assaulting him with her words. I couldn’t blame him, either. She had never assaulted me verbally or otherwise, but I had seen her do some pretty serious damage with her words alone. I did love her and she was my girlfriend, but I could recognize how she got just plain nasty and cruel sometimes.

“Fine. It better be a good place, too. You’re not cheaping out on this, Mike,” Treya said. She only gave in because she was hungry and cold. If we had been inside already, she would’ve kept up her Mike-bashing.

“Soulinee’s sounds nice,” I said thoughtfully. Treya and Mike began quickly packing up the equipment, both wanting to leave swiftly for their own reasons.

“Ie’ve nevar been there. Is it noce?” Anya asked. She wasn’t going to help pick up either, it seemed.

“She just said it sounded nice. What do you think, that it’s a rathole? Jeez,” Treya said with a sneer.

“It’s very nice. And warm. Very nice and warm. With good food, sometimes,” I said with a smile.

“Unly sumtimes?” Anya questioned curiously.

“Well, you see, they change their head chef every couple of months for some reason. Sometimes they make a good choice, sometimes they make a bad choice. So sometimes the food is good, sometimes the food is bad,” I explained.

“Ie see. Interesting,” Anya said thoughtfully.

“It’s very interesting. It means going there is never boring, because you aren’t always sure what the experience will be like. You can go back over and over and over, and it’ll almost always be something new. Maybe that’s the reason they change head chefs so much,” I said.

“That is a very gud tacteec,” Anya observed, “Ie think that is definitely the place we shuud gu.” That’s about when Treya and Mike finished their hasty clean up, and we headed off. Anya and I might have only made small talk when we chatted during the course of the shoot, but I was positive she was nothing like Treya always said real models were.



I curled up on the couch, feeling too lazy to take off any of the clothes I’d worn merely to keep me warm outside. Treya, however, wasted no time stripping off her sweater, scarf, shoes, socks, and, yes, even her pants. She looked over at me, frowning a little. “You’re going to cook like bacon if you stay wrapped up like that. The thermostat is at eighty-five, you know,” she said.

I looked at her as she practically melted over the back of the couch as she lay on it, her head resting on the end I sat at. “What’re you thinking?” she asked, running her hands through my short, baby blue hair.

“You weren’t very nice to Anya,” I said. I knew it’d make her mad, but I said it anyways. I always answered that question of hers honestly, no matter what the consequences would be. Sometimes it proved to have bad results, but that didn’t stop me. I wanted only honesty in this relationship. Lies would never do anything to help, so they were useless.

“…Why should I have been? She’s a goddamn model. They’re all bitches,” she said. She now slid off the back of the couch to sit next to me, staring intently at me. Her mind was unable to comprehend why her being mean to a model would bother me.

“She…she was nice to me,” I said softly.

“Nanao, love, they’re always nice at first. They buddy up to you, find out how to take you down, and then attack. They’re not just bitches, they’re sneaky bitches,” she said flatly, frowning much more deeply now.

“She didn’t seem like she was being nice just to get at me. We didn’t even talk about anything that could hurt me,” I said.

“Well, duh, they don’t outright ask what your deepest, darkest fears and secrets are! They assess things and figure them out for themselves! I told you they were sneaky!” Treya exclaimed, throwing her hands into the air.

“If all models are sneaky bitches, are we going to be sneaky bitches after that magazine publishes Mike’s stuff?” I asked. This one caught her off-guard. She stopped and stared at me for a beat, trying to think up a good response that wouldn’t defeat her own argument.

“…No, of course not. This is only a one-time thing for us. It has to be a profession for you to be a sneaky bitch,” she explained finally. I simply sighed and looked away. She wasn’t going to give in, and she wasn’t going to give Anya a chance.

“What about giving people the benefit of the doubt?” I asked—almost pleaded, really—looking back at her now.

“Some people just don’t deserve it, Nanao. Please, don’t argue with me on this. I know you like to think of people positively, but models can’t be trusted for a moment,” she said, still frowning deeply. She truly did refuse to believe anything else. And I didn’t like that. I had known she hated models, and I had known she was stubborn when she hated something, but I just couldn’t believe she would automatically hate anyone just because they made a living as a model.

“How can you say such things? You don’t even know Anya! You haven’t even tried to know Anya!” I said, my voice starting to rise.

“I don’t need to know Anya! I know models, therefore I know her!” Treya exclaimed.

“Going by that logic, I know every photographer as a person just because I know one photographer. Still going by that logic, I can walk outside, randomly select a professional photographer, and trust him fully with myself the way I trust Mike,” I stated flatly.

“What? No! Jesus, Nanao, are you crazy?! You don’t know what kind of pervert could be behind that camera!” she exclaimed, gapping at me.

“But I know a photographer, therefore I know every photographer,” I said still flatly. She opened her mouth to argue, but closed it quickly. She was frowning again, her stare still very intent. She couldn’t argue with me without ruining her previous argument, and she was too stubborn to admit she was wrong.

“This is stupid. This conversation is over,” Treya said. She turned away and crossed her arms across her chest and crossed her legs over each other; a pose that conveyed the fact that she was pissed off at me.

“This is your logic. And you’re right, it is stupid,” I said simply. I stood up and left quickly as she gapped at me disbelievingly again. We’d had a fight. I’d started a fight. And I’d walked out on her. Crap.

Still thinking not-so-happy thoughts, I found myself at Mike’s quite quickly. I had knocked on the door before I’d realized where I was, so it was a small shock seeing Mike’s face as he opened the front door. He shared my shocked look.

“Nanao?” he asked. Before either of spoke another word, he had stepped aside and I’d come inside.

“Treya hates Anya. No, Treya hates models, therefore she hates Anya. And I think maybe she might hate me now,” I said much too calmly. Mike stared at me for a beat before speaking.

“What happened?” he asked finally.

“Treya hates models—like, really hates. And I never disputed her about how horrible they all are, because I never knew any actual models and therefore had no right to say anything. But she started saying that Anya was horrible just because all models are horrible, and I argued with her. She really hates models badly, and she hates Anya just because she’s a model, so doesn’t that mean she’ll hate me for defending a model?” I asked.

Before Mike could respond, Anya walked into the entrance of the apartment where we stood. “Prubably it dus,” she said. She wasn’t trying to mean—she was just being honest, really—but those words made me burst into tears.

“Oh shit! Nanao, don’t cry! Treya doesn’t hate you! Anya doesn’t even know everything about you two, so she doesn’t understand that Treya would never hate you! Treya loves you! You know that!” Mike exclaimed, frantically switching between hugging me and trying to wipe my falling tears away.

“Ie am su surry! Ie didn’t mean to opset her!” Anya exclaimed, coming over now. At her words, I stopped and stared at her for a moment. It couldn’t be….



A few hours later, Anya, Mike, and I were sitting around his kitchen table, wired from drinking soda, stupid from drinking booze, and swapping embarrassing and depressing stories. We were all crying by now, from both sorrow and laughter as we listened to and recounted our tales. A knock on the front door cut into our pity party gone awry, and we all turned to slowly stare in the direction of the door.

“Are you expecting anyone?” I asked in a low hiss, leaning over to Mike just incase whoever was beyond that door had superpower-type hearing and could hear anything said in a normal voice even through a door that was twenty feet away.

“I don’t know,” Mike hissed back, leaning away from me instead of towards me.

“It moght byee the fashun pulice,” Anya hissed with a slur that had nothing to do with her accent.

“Oh my God, are they real?!” I screamed, totally forgetting that whoever it was might have superpower-type hearing.

“I’m so sorry! It’s all my fault! I’ve never been very fashionable!” Mike exclaimed, slamming his head onto the table and covering his face as he sobbed.

“They can’t arrest us! They only arrest you if you go into public dressed horribly, right?!” I exclaimed, looking at Anya with terror written on my face.

“Ie dun’t knuw! Ie’ve aaaaaaaalways been the fashunablest!” Anya exclaimed right back at me, her hand flying to her chest as though she were offended.

“I can’t go to fashion prison! I don’t know what it’s like, but I just can’t!” I shouted, jumping up from my seat as I looked for an exit. No windows. Damn.

“Let me in! It’s cold as Hell out here!” came a shout through the door. We all stopped our drunken panicking and looked towards the door again.

“…But Hell is warm!” Mike shouted back at the person on the other side of the door.

“Let me in, you stupid man!” screamed the person. I then realized it was Treya. She was the only person who would show up at Mike’s door and call him a man like it was a bad thing. I quickly went and opened the door for her. She stepped in, closing the door behind herself as she stared at the three of us. By the look on her face, she obviously wasn’t happy. By the looks on our faces, we obviously were smashed.

“You’re all drunk. Why is it even ‘you all’? Why is she here?” Treya asked flatly, gesturing to Anya.

“She was here with Mike and they were having a few drinks and I came here and we were all having a few drinks and now you’re here and do you want a drink?” I said quickly, rushing everything together into one sentence and practically one word.

“That’s exactly it!” Mike exclaimed, as though I had actually made an ounce of sense.

“As lung as yur nut the fashun pulice, yu can stay,” Anya said, as though she owned the place.

Treya just stared, as though we were all nuts. But we weren’t nuts! We were just drunk stupid. After a moment of silence, she spoke. “You guys had more than just a few drinks, and I don’t want to join you in being able to say that tomorrow. Nanao, get your things. You need to come home,” she said.

I stared for a moment, but then suddenly burst into tears and threw myself into Mike's arms, almost knocking him over in doing so. “I don’t wanna come home! You hate me for defending the bitch!” I sobbed.

“Ie thught yu said Ie wasn’t a bitch!” Anya exclaimed before cracking and bursting into tears as well.

“I’m sorry I’m so unfashionable!” Mike sobbed, still back on the page with the fashion police. Treya just stared, unable to react to our drunken stupidity.

Finally, after several minutes of loud sobbing from us three, Treya snapped and smacked us upside the head one at a time. “Christ! You’re all stupid! Mike, nobody cares about your fashion sense! Anya, you are a bitch and we both know it! Nanao, I don’t hate you! Now all of you idiots snap out of it!” she shouted. Mike’s and my audible sobbing halted, but tears still fell down our cheeks as we stared at her like kicked puppies. Anya, however, seemed to have recovered…sort of.

"Ie am nut a bitch. Soccess is a bitch. She's hard tu get the affectun uf, and even unce you have her, she's still hard tu keep,” Anya said, grabbing up a random beer bottle and taking a swing as she tried to act serious.

“…What the Hell?” Treya said, staring at the model with disdain and disbelief.

“She said that Success is the real bitch,” Mike said, wiping away some of his tears as his drunken crying ceased.

“I’m so sorry, Anya. I didn’t mean to call you a bitch. I know you’re not,” I sobbed out, being the only one to continue with my crying. I released Mike and lowered myself to the floor, curling into a ball as I began audibly sobbing again.

“Good God. I’m leaving. Mike, you better bring Nanao home as soon as she’s done being a fool with you. If anything happens to her, it’s your head I’ll have on a platter,” Treya said. She spun about and stormed out, slamming the door behind her.

I wailed once loudly before continuing to sob, and Mike bent down to try to comfort me. In the meantime, Anya went to check for more alcohol in the refrigerator, since the bottle she had was almost empty; she seemed to have long since moved on past the bitch thing already.

“Calm down, Nanao. Treya said she didn’t hate you. You should be happy!” Mike said, hugging me and straightening my hair.

I covered my mouth to partially muffle another wail. “She was lying! She was only saying that to stop me crying! She hates when people cry! Oh my God, I’ve given her more reason to hate me! I hate myself!” I sobbed behind my hand, shaking violently as I cried. Honestly, I probably would’ve been thinking along the same lines even if I hadn’t had nearly a dozen drinks. “I deserve to die! Why am I even alive? I should just go freeze to death outside!” I sobbed. I gave up muffling myself to cling to Mike’s shirt with both hands.

“No you don’t! If anyone deserves to die, it’s me! It’s my fault you two are fighting! I shouldn’t have taken advantage of you! I’m so sorry!” Mike said, beginning to sob again.

“If yur buth su deserving to die, kill yurselfs,” Anya said rather unhelpfully as she returned from her alcohol search with beers in hand.

“I can’t die until Treya stops hating me!” I sobbed.

“I can’t die until I’ve seen the magazine published!” Mike sobbed.

“Ie can die right nuw withut reget….” Anya paused for a moment before correcting herself, “…regrets.” And then she headed for the kitchen, certainly not for more beer. Mike yelled and jumped up to follow her, not liking the idea of a model killing herself in his kitchen.

I, however, did not move. I stared at the closed front door with my jaw dropped, epiphany settling into my drunken mind. I could die at any moment. There were a million things that could kill me. I had always lived knowing that, but also knowing I wouldn’t regret it if somehow I did suddenly die. I knew just the opposite of that now, though. I knew that if something suddenly occurred and killed me, I would deeply regret having left things off with Treya like this.

I quickly scrambled to my feet and headed off, not thinking to grab my jacket or my shoes in my epiphany-and-beer-induced-stupor. I hardly even remembered to close the door behind me as I went out into the cold and headed home in an almost zombified daze. I had no idea what I was going to do when I got home, but I knew I had to be there and that I had to be with Treya.

The next thing I knew I was at my own front door, staring at it intently. At first, I thought I was trying to come up with the right thing to say before entering, but then I realized I was only standing there because I’d left my key in my coat back at Mike’s. Crap. I really hoped Treya was in there, not only to hear me out but to let me in.

I raised my hand and knocked on the door, but I was unable to knock harder than a child since it stung terribly in this cold to knock on the door with bare knuckles. “Treyaaaaa! Are you there? Can I come in?” I called out. No response. She couldn’t have gone somewhere other than straight home, could she?

“Treya, please, it’s freezing out here! It really is cold as Hell! I forgot my coat and boots! And it’s too far to go back in this cold! And I’m sorry! And I don’t want you to hate me! And I really want to be with you even if you’re stubborn to no end and have some horribly different views from mine and refuse to accept reason when it’s placed right before you and—“ I shouted, but I was cut off before I could go any further.

The door was pulled open and I was grabbed by the shirt and yanked inside. The door was closed again before I even registered that I was let in. Treya and I both stared at each other, each of us seeming to be shocked for some reason.

“I thought you were only saying the jacket and boots thing to seem more pathetic,” she said as she gave me a once over.

I then burst into tears, hearing her give off a groan as I let out my third wail of the night. “I’m sorry, Treya! I don’t want you to hate me for thinking differently than you! I can’t change my views to suit yours, but can’t you accept me even if I think differently? Please don’t hate me for challenging your views!” I sobbed, almost crumpling to the floor as I began shaking due to my sobbing and crying.

“W-Wait! I already told you I don’t hate you! And do you have to say it like that?! It makes me sound like a bigoted bitch!” Treya exclaimed. She quickly grabbed me and pulled me to her, most probably because she was afraid I’d collapse if I kept crying like this.

I sobbed a little more, sniffled once, and then stared up at her with wide eyes filled with yet-to-be-shed tears. “You really don’t hate me? You aren’t just saying that to make me stop crying?” I whimpered pathetically. She stared back down at me for a moment before sighing and giving me a soft squeeze.

“Of course I don’t hate you, and of course I’m not saying it just to stop your crying. I thought you knew I loved you more than anything else,” she said softly as she gazed down at me both lovingly and let down.

“Not more than your own opinion,” I said with a sniffle.

“Sweetie….of course I love you more than my opinions. I may…” she paused and sighed again before continuing, “I know, I'm full of myself. Well, I mean, I'm not full of myself, but I'm full of it. I still love you, though.”

"You forgot the 'bullsh' that goes in front of that 'it'," I said with a sniff. She arched an eyebrow at me and I just pressed my face into the crook of her neck. “I can die now,” I said softly to myself.

“What?” she asked, glancing down at me. I didn’t answer, though, because I was already drifting fast into a very dark but very comforting sleep.



“Aaaah, Heaven~!” I exclaimed happily to myself, falling back onto the bed. I giggled madly for a few seconds as I rolled around on the bed before regaining my composure. “Now I truly have no regrets!” I exclaimed to myself as I held it out for inspection. Beautiful. And I had five hundred copies of it.

A finger poked over the magazine and pulled it down so that eyes other than my own could peek at the magazine. Treya just had to look at the one I had, rather than grab one of the other five hundred to look at. She didn’t seem as happy as I was about this. I had no idea why. A frown settled on my face as I observed the frown on her face.

“What’s wrong?” I asked. She glanced up from the magazine to me, still frowning.

“Now you’re going to spend all of your time looking at these,” she said.

“Is that a problem?” I asked. If it was, I didn’t see how. What was wrong with adoring my girlfriend’s modeling photos in a magazine or five hundred?

“Yes! If you’re always looking at these, when are you going to look at the real me?!” she exclaimed. I stared for a moment before slowly smiling and leaning up to plant a soft kiss on her frowning lips.

“When it’s too dark to be reading this magazine,” I purred. Slowly a grin broke out across her face and she reached out and turned out the light.

“Is it dark enough now?” she whispered. The magazine had already left my hands.