The crumpled photo shook in Lester's hand. Schlick… schlick… schlick…
"Ah... goodness..." he breathed, his voice quiet and breathy in the sterile air.
His fist moved under his boxers in steady, rhythmic strokes. The wet sound was too loud in the quiet room.
"Ngh… yeah..."
Bob-cut black hair stuck to his sweaty forehead. Round glasses sat crooked and freckles marking his cheeks.
With a low groan and a final twitch of his hips, he finished.
Splurt.
Semen spilled over his fingers.
His chest instantly seized, a tight, rattling wheeze cutting off his breath.
Hnnk
He fumbled blindly across the sheets, snatched up his rescue inhaler, and jammed it between his teeth.
Pshhht
A bitter chemical mist hit his tongue. He held it, chest heaving, until his airways finally unclamped with a long, shaky exhale.
"Hahh..." He slumped back against the pillows, letting out a heavy sigh of physical relief as the burning in his lungs faded.
For a brief second, his eyes drifted shut.
Then, postcoital dysphoria hit him like a cold splash of water—the sudden, hollow crash of reality where the fantasy instantly evaporates.
Leaving behind only the damp quiet and the acute, and the smell of used tissues.
"You're so pathetic," he muttered, shaking his head at himself.
He sat there for a second, breathing hard.
Reaching weakly toward the bedside table, he grabbed a tissue from a cardboard box, hastily wiped himself clean, and tossed the soiled paper into a bin that was already full to the brim.
After that, he turned his attention to Robert—the Leica sitting nearby.
It was a classic rangefinder camera encased in sleek, black vulcanite with polished silver chrome hardware.
Weight of timeless German craftsmanship.
He opened the small hidden compartment on the side of the camera and slipped the crumpled photo inside.
"Another one for the archive, Dear Robert."
Lester set it down.
After that, he just laid on the bed in silence.
For a long moment, he tossed and turned, shifting restlessly against the mattress.
But when he rolled over to face the wardrobe side of the room, his eyes caught the top of the wardrobe causing him to quickly turn away with a shudder.
"Its already late, I cant." he planted his face in his pillow.
He needed an escape.
He needed the one thing he both loathed and harbored as an absolute guilty pleasure.
With a sigh, his thumb hovered over the screen, trembling slightly above the glowing setting tile.
It stayed suspended there for a long, agonizing beat—not quite pressing down, caught in an invisible pull between the dread of what notifications awaited and the hollow craving for the digital escape.
"Why do I do this?" he whispered into the dark, arguing with his own reflection in the blank glass.
"It's just going to make you feel worse. Turn it off."
But he didn't.
After a quiet, trembling hesitation, his thumb finally pushed down, and the data toggle flashed active.
Notifications flooded the screen. All from the university group chat.
"Figures," he scoffed, pulling the phone closer to his face.
He still remembered the first time it happened.
His phone never got notifications.
Then one day it suddenly buzzed, and he found himself inside a massive campus group someone had added him to by accident.
"How do you even add the wrong number?" he had muttered back then.
He waited to be removed.
No one ever noticed.
At first he only checked it every now and then. Nowadays he opened it religiously.
He scrolled through the feed, staring at the bright text bubbles as if they were live transmissions from a planet he wasn't allowed on.
Every timestamp, every casual inside joke felt like undeniable proof that they possessed a permanent, unshakeable state of grace, moving through a vibrant, breathing reality while he was trapped entirely outside of it.
The main focus today was about a party.
Chase Hantemers' Party
The most popular male at his university.
Bob: Are we moving the setup to the east courtyard or keeping it inside the main hall tonight?
Liam: Main hall, bro. Too much wind outside.
Sienna: Can't wait to see everyone. This week has been actual torture istg 😭
Torture? Lester thought, his lip curling as his thumb dragged down the screen.
You sat in a lecture hall for three hours, Sienna.
You wouldn't last five minutes breathing stale air in this box.
Then the photos started rolling in, centering around Chase.
Chase stood at the focal point of every image—possessing that striking, effortless sort of arrogance with sharp, perfectly parted blonde hair swept neatly across his forehead, piercing, cold eyes that looked down upon everyone with absolute amusement, and a sleek, tailored sense of style that made him look like he belonged on a magazine cover rather than a campus party.
He radiated a magnetic superiority, commanding the entire digital frame simply by existing.
"I wish I were him." he grimaced.
Chase: Got the sound system dialed in. Tonight is going to be legendary.
Dave: Save me a spot near the drinks, man.
"Must be nice," Lester muttered bitterly to the empty room.
"Just snap your fingers and an entire room bends to you."
Lester's chest tightened. He scrolled further, his pulse hammering against his ribs until he found the name that always appeared like clockwork.
Skye.
Skye: Finallyyyyy Chase's party tonight 🔥 who's coming??
"Why is she always on it," he muttered aloud, his jaw clenching.
A small, ugly knot twisted in his stomach. He hated seeing her name pop up with another breathless countdown to perfection, her flawless life broadcasted like a neon sign meant specifically to mock the absolute silence of his room.
"Do you ever just leave the group, Skye?" he hissed quietly at the screen.
He turned the notifications off and threw the phone onto the bed.
"Done. I'm done," he told himself.
Silence filled the room again.
Lester looked around. Bare walls. Plain desk. Plain sheets. No posters. No decorations.
Nothing that said anyone real lived here. Just a bland, empty box.
Is this it? he thought, staring blankly at the ceiling.
His eyes drifted back to Robert.
"Robert, do you believe things will get better from here? Or is this just... the permanent baseline?"
Then his gaze drifted back up toward the top of the wardrobe.
For a long moment, he just stared at it, half-turning away as a fresh wave of self-loathing rose in his throat, before his eyes locked back onto the dark, dust-covered shape resting up there.
He swallowed hard, his heart doing a strange, anxious stutter against his ribs.
"Months," he whispered, his voice trembling slightly in the quiet. "It's literally been sitting up there for months."
With a sudden, reckless twitch of movement that bypassed all of his usual hesitation, Lester pushed himself up off the bed, grabbed Robert by the strap, and dragged the wooden stool over to the wardrobe
An album. The cover was faded.
In his own messy freshman-year handwriting, the words were still clear:
CAPTURE THE MOMENTS
Lester sat down on the edge of the bed, album in one hand, Robert hanging from his neck.
For a long moment he just stared at the cover. Then, almost without deciding to, he opened it.
The first page was still filled with his sentences.
And a placeholders for pictures under the sentences
The ink had faded a little, but the words were easy to read.
1.A flash of laughter in a reflection.
2.A blur.
3.A strangers unfiltered laughter.
He kept reading, eyes moving down the list he had completely forgotten.
Some of the lines were stupid. but he still wanted, even now.
Lester closed the notebook slowly.
The bland room felt different.
Smaller.
Heavier.
He looked at Robert, then at the closed notebook in his hand.
"My younger self was really such an idiot."
"Having expectations that high, who did he think he was."
"…But I think I can do one thing," he said quietly. "Just one."
Outside, the campus kept moving without him. But for the first time in a long while, Lester wasn't sure he would stay still.
Lester sat on the edge of the bed with the notebook open.
He went through the list slowly, reading each line under his breath like it might change if he said it out loud.
1.A flash of laughter in a reflection.
2.A blur.
3.A strangers unfiltered laughter.
4. A glowing cigarette in an ashtray.
...
They felt like they belonged to a different person. He kept going until he reached the last page, then closed the notebook and just stared at the cover.
"Good grief... what now?" he muttered.
His phone buzzed once on the bed.
Lester picked it up. A new message had come through in the group chat.
Skye:
Chase's place is already packed btw 🔥 gate's open just come through
He stared at the notification.
The party.
It was still happening.
After going through the list he finally noticed an easy shot that he could get tonight.
43. College party dance
Lester looked at the empty album, then at Robert, then back at the phone.
"One shot," he said again, quieter this time. "Just one. You can manage one."
He stood up before he could talk himself out of it.
The wardrobe was as bland as the rest of the room.
He pulled the doors open and stared at the clothes hanging inside.
Most of it was formal or smart casual—the kind of things his mother had bought him just in case.
Button-ups.
Dark trousers. A couple of plain sweaters. Nothing that looked like it belonged at a loud house party.
He took Robert off his neck and set the camera carefully on the desk so it was facing him.
"Right then," he murmured. "Let's be sensible."
He pulled out a white button-up and held it against himself.
"Excessively formal?"
He waited a second, as if Robert might answer, then snorted under his breath and tossed it onto the bed.
"You are remarkably unhelpful," he remarked to the camera.
In the end he settled on the black polo and the least formal pair of dark trousers he owned. He looked at himself in the mirror one last time, adjusted his glasses, and sighed.
"Adequate. It will have to suffice. No one shall be paying me any mind anyway."
He picked Robert back up, slipped the strap over his neck, and left.
__________________________________________
/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
___________________________________________
Chase's place was a small mansion tucked behind a low wall and an open gate.
Even from the street the bass rolled out in heavy waves.
Lights spilled from every window.
People were already on the lawn with cups in their hands, laughing, shouting, moving like the night belonged to them.
Lester stood on the sidewalk longer than he meant to.
Just walk in.
You've already come this far. Do not turn around now.
He forced himself through the gate.
Inside, the noise wrapped around him immediately.
Music thundered from somewhere deeper in the house.
Bodies packed the hallway and the main room. Someone was already dancing on a table. A couple was making out hard against the wall near the stairs, hands under clothes like no one else existed.
In the corner a group was doing shots off each other's stomachs, screaming every time someone missed.
Lester drifted through it slowly, Robert hanging against his chest.
His shoulders were tight. Every time someone brushed past him he felt himself flinch half a step closer to the wall.
You're fine. You're merely walking. People do this routinely.
For the first time in a long while he wasn't only watching from a phone screen. He was actually here. The energy of the party pressed in from every side—loud, messy, alive in a way his bland room never was.
He spotted Chase near the center of the living room, easy smile on his face, people kept coming up to him.
Completely in his element.
He laughed at everything.
The golden boy at the center of his own night.
Lester looked away quickly.
Do not stare. It is unbecoming.
He kept moving and held on to Robert looking for a shot he could feel another asthma attack soon.
"Just one photo for the album and we leave alright Robert."
He passed another couple half-hidden in a doorway, the girl's leg hooked around the guy's hip.
Further down the hall someone had climbed onto a speaker and was trying to crowd-surf before immediately falling. Lester's face felt hot. He adjusted his glasses for no reason and tightened his grip on Robert's strap.
Just keep walking. You're fulfilling the list. That's all this is.
He was so preoccupied with maintaining an air of normalcy that he failed to notice the unfolding confrontation ahead until it blocked his path entirely.
A few paces away, Skye was engaged in a sharp, tense argument with an acquaintance, her expression severe. Losing her temper entirely, she thrust her hands forward and shoved hard against the person standing opposite her.
Thrown off balance by the sudden shove, the person stumbled backward and careened directly into Lester's trajectory.
A shoulder slammed into his.
Lester stumbled sideways. His heel caught the base of a decorative statue near the staircase. The thing wobbled once, twice—
Then it went over.
The crash was loud enough to cut through the music for half a second.
Plaster and broken pieces scattered across the floor.
Both of their eyes widened.
Bright blue hair.
Skye.
Their eyes locked.