Pretty Boy.

Frank realises that he’s going to have to drop the contents of one of his hands to maintain the contents of the other. Right, he loses the steaming cup of coffee that cost him four bucks and is the only thing keeping him warm and awake as well as the newly lit cigarette balanced between his middle and ring fingers. Left, he drops his camera which cost him altogether closer to four thousand bucks and which he needs to continue earning money to buy coffee and cigarettes.

It’s a relatively easy decision, but Frank is still saddened when the dark liquid spills out over the concrete, staining the rubber tips of his shoes. He sighs, crouches down to snap a picture of the destruction and glares begrudgingly at the wretched camera. Returning to his, albeit small, full height, Frank began to photograph his surroundings. This was the way he liked his work; taking pictures of dogs and clouds and skeletons of bare trees as opposed to grinning children in a facade of happiness, playing with toys they would never be able to keep. Misty-eyed couples, clinging to each other and beaming at the camera, they wouldn’t last, Frank always thought as he droned directions to them and trawled through however many shots they paid for.

Frank enjoys the peace. It’s early, maybe nine in the morning, and he’s in the park, taking pictures of the late autumn glory. He focuses his attention on a scattered patch of brightly coloured, dead leaves for a couple of frames before he sees another figure. Considering the time and the fact that it’s about four degrees at the most, there are really only about three people in the park besides Frank. The three people being: an old man walking his dog, a half asleep father unawares that his child is crying and bleeding from the elbow and then the last solitary figure. He’s curled up on a rusted bench, ten or so metres away from Frank with his chin rested on his folded knees. Seemingly a human indent of colour in Frank’s photo of vision, he’s dressed completely in black besides the splash of crimson cotton knotted around his pale neck.

Frank’s not sure if it’s the light or colours or the fact that the boy or man seems to have a nice bone structure from where he’s standing but he points the camera at him. He snaps one picture of the boy in his folded, pretzel-formed state and lowers his camera; realises he isn’t done yet and continues to take pictures of the boy, capturing different angles and shadows cast on his sultry face.

Then, after another array of shots, the boy turns his head towards Frank. The camera is blatantly pointed at him, no excuses, and Frank lowers it slowly, toying with the strap. The boy just stares for a few moments, tilts his head to the side in contemplation before looking away again. Then it clicks to Frank that he’s breaking the law by taking pictures of the kid without his permission and he could probably like, sue him or some shit. He drops his eyes and flicks through the shots of the guy, they’re not perfect but Frank wants to keep them. A lot. There’s really only a couple of options, he settles for the honest route.

The boy, who only looks about fifteen, looks up at Frank; face blank and dull-eyed when he stands above him.

“Hi, I um...Thing is...I took a couple pictures of you, good...light and whatnot. Anyway, I know I shouldn’t have done that without asking you, sorry, but I kind of wanted to keep them and maybe like, use them. I totally won’t if you object but like, I’d kind of like to. And I’ll pay you,” Frank stops his barely coherent ramble to reach into his messenger bag, rifling around almost frantically before producing his little wallet. Upon inspection, there’s only fifteen dollars –fifty in there which seems completely meagre to be paying someone for fifteen plus pictures.

“I’ve only got fifteen bucks, but I could go to the bank or...I could come back and...” Frank trails off because the boy’s frowning, face inching towards incredulous.

“I...I don’t want any money,” he says in a soft little voice that rings like a bell and carries perfectly in the clear morning, “No need to bother,” he adds sullenly, dropping Frank’s eye contact.

“Are you sure? You don’t mind me using ‘em?”

The boy shakes his head at this, evoking a wide grin from Frank.

“Awesome, I mean, I feel kinda’ bad, like, I don’t wanna’ steal from you or anything. Like...” Frank sighs, the arrangement feeling askew to him as though he’s using the kid as some sort of camera whore. “Can I do anything for you?” another slow shake of the head answers Frank’s question and the silence trails out for a few seconds. “Okay, well, thanks a lot. I really appreciate that,” he smiles and turns away. Right then, the breeze picks up, swirling the already cold air into Frank’s eyes and ears stingingly. He goes to walk away.

“You could buy me some coffee if you wanted,” comes the sheepish voice from behind him. When Frank turns, the wind blowing a tornado of red scarf and black hair around the boys ashy face, he smiles.

“Sure, come on,” he beckons the boy with a tilt of the head and the boy wastes no time in scrambling from his seat and walking alongside Frank towards the nearest warm place.

The boy orders a black coffee and when he and Frank are seated, sets about adding five packets of sugar. Frank eyes him tentatively and stirs his coffee, kind of wishing they’d gotten it to take out, he’s not really sure what to say to the kid. Close up, he’s just as photogenic as from a distance, high cheekbones and contrasting colours. His clothes are kind of dirty though and he looks like he could probably use a shower though there’s no greatly offensive smell from where Frank’s sitting.

“What’s your name?” he settles on, taking a slow sip of the hot, rich beverage.

“Gerard,” he states, gulping from his cup and sighing deeply.

“Frank,” he feels like they should shake hands but the kid’s far too busy adding more sugar to his coffee so instead, Frank just continues to stir his coffee with the little wooden wand.

“Hey, kid, do you have uh...somewhere to stay?” he glances up at Frank, eyes wide and bewildered like a birds before dropping the gaze.

“I’m not a kid,” he trails his pinkie finger around the rim of his half empty cup, mouth and eyebrows fixed into paralleled sullen lines.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Frank resists the urge to tack on a ’kid’ at the end of his statement out of pure defiance. This time Gerard nods.

“Yeah, I stay with my kid brother sometimes, he’s got a place. But his girlfriend, she’s like, seven months pregnant? Eight maybe. He’s only seventeen, I got no place there, y’know? So, other nights I just, find somewhere else to sleep,” Frank nods, furrowing his brows a little at Gerard’s explanation.

“Oh,” it’s his turn to look down, pouring sugar from his half emptied packet of sugar onto the table and spreading it out into swirls with his fingertips. “So you don’t really have a place to stay?” Then there’s a long silence between Gerard frowning at Frank and downing the rest of his coffee in one.

“Thanks,” he states plainly, standing up and pushing his hands into the pockets of his jacket and raises his shoulders, “For the coffee. I’ll see you around,” then he turns to walk away and Frank just has to stop him. Has to because he’s seemingly homeless and alone and very photogenic. So Frank follows him, leaving his barely sipped drink and bursts out into the cold air a couple of seconds behind Gerard.

“Wait, hold on a sec,” Frank calls and hears Gerard’s sigh when he stops, pivoting to face Frank with two raised eyebrows. Frank catches up and stands before him, trying to think of as many persuasive things as he can.

“Let me take more pictures of you, I’ll pay this time.”

Gerard laughs.

“I don’t need your pity, dude,”

“No, I’m not...I want to take pictures of you for this thing...project I’m about to start. No pity at all, I want you to work for me,” he constructs the excuse on the spot so it’s a little lame but he really, really needs to help this guy, no idea why, he just does. Plus, he really, really wants to photograph him again. Gerard stares for a few more seconds before dropping his head with a low sigh.

“Fine, okay. I’ll do it. You’ll pay?”

Frank nods.