The Photo In The Trash - Tumblr Posts

DAYA YOU HURT ME ONCE AGAIN

tengo tu foto

pairing: photographer! fem reader x miguel o’hara

contents: angst w no comfort, longing (is anyone rly surprised by this point), and some suggestiveness (nuffin tew crazy)

synopsis: you were booked for an wedding shoot, not expecting to see your ex boyfriend there.

author’s note: inspired by this :3 anyways i incorporated one of the themes from the movie hehe >w<

word count: 7k (i may have gone overboard on the yapping, sorry)

"Can I open my eyes now?"

"No. Ten un poquito de paciencia que ya mero acabo," Miguel tuts from a distance, the sound of wrapping paper scuffling together following. Despite the fact that you'd told him he didn't need to get anything for your birthday, that just spending time with him would be enough, he still insisted on doing so. Even after taking you out to a restaurant of your choosing, not even batting an eye when the waiter brought the check over. (have a little patience that i'm almost done)

"I know you said you didn't want anything but I stopped by that antique store in Queens and found the thing you've been wanting," he told you, stepping close to remove your hands from your eyes. You blinked a couple times to get used to the light in the room, looking down at the gift bag in his hands. Well, at least it wasn't anything too extravagant by the size of it. Or at least you hoped that it wasn't.

"Thank you, but you didn't have to do this. Your comp-"

"Before you say that my company would've been enough, you see me almost every day. Allow me to indulge in you a bit," he cut you off before you had the chance to finish speaking, giving you an innocent enough smile. "Just open it."

You took the gift bag from him, placing it down on your dinner table before starting to take out the sheets of wrapping paper. Even with that, you were trying to be meticulous enough not to rip it. At the bottom of the bag, you could see a white box peeking through. You took the box out with care, your eyes widening when you caught a glimpse of the words printed by the side. It was a vintage black Polaroid camera and a sleek leather photo album.

"Do you like it?" All you could do was nod, going over and wrapping your arms around him. You'd mentioned wanting this camera in passing a couple times, but you weren't expecting to actually get it. It should've been a nearly impossible task given that polaroids had ceased to have any usage with attachable phone printers, the quality of those unmatched. And yet you found yourself wanting this one after watching a movie, imagining all the different scenarios you wanted to use the camera for.

You basically opened the camera in record time, holding into in your hands for a couple seconds just to make sure you weren't dreaming. After the initial excitement passed, you examined the camera to see the different functions that it had and where you could put the film cartridge. You messed around with a couple of the buttons before the back of the camera eventually opened up, an illustration of how to set the cartridge etched inside.

As much as you didn't want to admit it, you'd been so focused on even just trying to acquire the camera that you didn't bother to research exactly just how it is that it worked. You reached over for the box, the manual falling down on the table. You'd barely managed to open it before Miguel grabbed it from your hands, putting it to the side. "We can figure this out by ourselves. It can't possibly be that difficult," he stated, sitting down at the table next to you.

He'd almost wished he hadn't said those words so soon.

The two of you sat there for a couple minutes, trying to figure out how exactly it was that the camera functions worked. You were grateful enough that you had boxes of cartridges to go through, considering that you'd almost went through one in testing this whole thing out. "Go see if that one worked," Miguel pointed over to the one processing on the table, his focus on the camera almost admirable. "This would go by a whole lot easier if you weren't so reluctant to use the manual."

"I refuse. I promise it'll work this time."

"It's almost like manuals were included in the box for situations like this," you muttered under your breath, noticing the subtle scoff he let out.

If the two of you were in any other situation, you might've found this a bit humorous. The two of you struggling with a simple enough camera while he dealt with complicated tech at a super fancy genetics facility and you dealt with cameras that had much more to them. "It did not work," you grumbled, only seeing your reflection peering back at you through the black photograph. If you squinted enough, at least you could see the silhouette of both of your figures. That counted as progress, right?

"Maybe it might be time to reconsider using the manual?" You suggested, your voice raising up a couple octaves as you tried to coax him into the idea.

"We don't need a manual. I'm a genius and you're an expert in cameras. We should be able to figure this out."

He twisted the lens of the camera onto the symbol with the home on it, deciding to test it out since it was the only one left. Miguel pointed at the fruit bowl that the two of you had been using as a practice model, clicking on the button. The whirr of the camera followed, the photograph coming out almost immediately. You slipped it out when it was halfway through, setting it down on the table to wait for it to process. "How's it going at the photography studio? Is your boss still being stingy?"

"It's gotten absurd. I had a client come in this last Monday and he immediately swept in to tell him that I don't have any experience," you couldn't help but feel annoyance when thinking back to the scenario, knowing pretty well that your portfolio was just as good as any of the other interns'. If not, even better.

"How are you supposed to get any experience if he's not giving it to you?"

You gave a small shrug in response, that being the same question that you asked yourself repeatedly. Every opportunity to advance at the studio had been ripped away from you, yet you couldn't bring yourself to quit. Maybe it was fear. Maybe it was just that you'd gotten complacent staying in the same position for a couple years now. "Obviously you didn't ask for my opinion, but I think you should quit if he continues like this," Miguel offered quietly, his hand coming up to your shoulder.

"I'll think about it," you told him after a couple seconds of silence, contemplating his words. You knew he was right, deep down you did know. But what if other companies saw you as the mediocre photographer that this company did? The thought was just too much to handle. You looked over at the photograph once it was finished processing, noticing that the fruit bowl had been perfectly captured. "It worked!" You sounded a little too excited, handing over the photograph for him to examine his work.

"Now, let's take one together," is what you said about two minutes ago.

He ended up sitting down on a chair, one of your arms wrapped around him as the two of you looked into the camera. "How much longer? My cheeks are starting to hurt," you asked him through the smile you were trying so hard to maintain. "Hold on, I'm just trying to find the button," he muttered, the subtle scratch of his nail hitting the camera as he searched for the button. You'd barely heard the click from the button, immediately blinded by the flash shooting directly at the both of you.

Was this how your clients felt? Maybe you'd stop getting on their ass for capturing a majority of their photos with their eyes closed. Realistically you knew you wouldn't though. Seriously, how hard was it for them to keep their eyes open for four seconds? Miguel blinked slowly, putting the camera down on the table. "Pretty sure I just burned my retinas with that one," he muttered, taking the photo out and setting it on a placemat for it to develop. "Ditto."

"Hey, can I keep the photo? I'm thinking of putting it in my wallet," he asked once you were done adorning the blank space with stars and little hearts. You handed the photo over to him when he was done pulling out his wallet, noticing how gentle he was at handling the photo so it wouldn't bend. An array of photos were inside of his wallet, most of them Gabriella. One from when she was a baby to one where she was holding up a diploma for her kinder graduation.

"Te ves tan hermosa. I swear, that camera doesn't do you enough justice," he mused, looking down at the photograph that adorned the back of his wallet. Though he wouldn't be able to deny that the way you smiled in the picture was an image that would stay engrained in his brain for as long as he lived. "Thank you for getting it for me regardless. I know it wasn't much of an easy task," you responded, watching as he went over to fridge. (you look so beautiful)

"Gabriella and I baked you a cake. Well, more like she put the ingredients and mixed it and I just did the heavy work," he told you, bringing the plate with the cake over. You looked over, seeing the cake sprinkled with an ungodly amount of sprinkles and the writing on the frosting a bit crooked. Yet the fact that they'd both taken the time made you heart swell. "It's the prettiest cake I've ever seen. Tell her I said thank you," you gave him a smile, stepping up so he could lean over and light the candles up on the cake.

"Don't smush my head into the cake," you warned him, hovering slightly above the cake. His laughter echoed throughout the apartment, standing across from you with the camera pointed towards you. "Not sure how I would manage that but noted," he responded, putting the camera up to his eye and angling it. "You'd find a way," you muttered, blowing out the candles. You wafted the smoke fumes coming up, starting to take out the candles. "Que lo parta, que lo parta," Miguel chanted in the background when you went to cut the cake.

"Thank you. You've just left me with dessert for the rest of the week," you called out from the kitchen, setting the remaining cake in the fridge. You grabbed  your plate from the table, going over to the couch where he'd sat down. "What movie did you end up picking out?" You asked, already expecting it to be some kind of sci-fi movie. Maybe thriller if you were lucky. "Some old romance movie, supposed to be good. La La Land," he answered, taking a bite from his cake. You wiped some of the frosting with your thumb, licking it off afterwards.

"No new movies out in theaters?"

"Well, it's not that. They're just hard to enjoy with all the AI writing and all the CGI. It just doesn't feel like I'm actually watching a movie with real actors, y'know?" If you had to guess, you'd probably say that he was right. Majority of the behind the scenes shots that you've seen for recent movies have just shown robots on set, only around two people actually present. It all just felt so.. emotionless. A repeat of the same movie over and over again just with different characters.

His thumb drew lazy circles on your thigh while Sebastian and Mia were seated at the movie theatre. "I wanted to run something by you, see what you thought about it," he started off, already looking at you when you turned to face him. You really hoped this wasn't the start of a break up speech. "Gabriella's really important to me, as I'm sure you're aware. And now that we're starting to get serious, I'd like for you to meet her," were not the words you were expecting from that sentence, but you weren't upset at them.

The thought of meeting his little girl was something that intrigued you and scared you shitless at the same time. What if she thought you were making some futile attempt to replace her mom? What if she ran you out of the house throwing eggs at you? You took a deep breath, trying to think of the positives. Miguel had done nothing but describe her as well-behaved, there would be no reason for her to act up. You'd just have to reassure her that you wanted to love her, not replace her mother in any form. "I'd love to meet her."

"This defeats the purpose of the movie, y'know?" He pointed out when you sat on his lap, your legs on either sides of his. You wrapped your arms around his neck, your nails gently raking against the curls on the nape of his neck. "Is that a complaint that I'm hearing, Mr. O'Hara?" You whispered against his lips, his chest rumbling as he laughed. "Not at all," he sounded breathless as he spoke, his hands coming down to rest on your hips. He let out a small groan when you leaned in, the taste of frosting lingering on his lips.

You'd barely registered the sound of his phone buzzing in the background, only breaking away from the kiss when he did. He pulled it out of his pocket, letting out a small groan. "It's my ex wife. Just give me a second," he whispered, placing the phone up to his ear. You could make out a couple words from her frantic yelling, nothing that would give you a clue to what was going on though. "I'm not processing the information any better with you yelling in my ear," Miguel sounded much different with his ex wife, a tone he'd never used with you.

After receiving a couple more pieces of context based on what Miguel was telling Dana to do, you were able to decipher that Gabriella was currently running a fever along with a cold. "I'll come by to pick her up along with some medicine, okay?" He'd simply stated after Dana spent around two minutes talking to him. "Yes and groceries too," he added, albeit a bit reluctantly before hanging up the phone. He rubbed a hand over his face, letting out a small resigned sigh. He'd even called off work tomorrow to spend a lazy morning with you.

"I have to go," he pressed a quick kiss to your lips, tapping on the side of your thigh. You got off him, standing up to walk him out the door. "Stay safe. Call me when you get home," you told him before he left, standing on your tippy toes to give him a kiss on the cheek. "I will, I promise. I'll text you the details for next week, okay?" He called out, starting to head down the sidewalk. You waited until he wasn't visible anymore to go back inside, starting to clean up a couple smudges of frosting on the table.

You ended up watching the rest of the movie in the comfort of your couch, lying to yourself about the tears in your eyes. He'd mentioned the movie being somewhat of a romance but he'd forgotten to disclose the important detail- that it was a tragic romance. Just the fact that they had everything that they could've wanted except for each other just made it all the more painful to watch. In order to distract yourself, you pulled your phone out to see if Miguel had texted you. After all, it'd been about thirty minutes since he left.

Maybe he'd forgotten. You tried to assure yourself that maybe it was the last thing on mind given that Gabriella was sick, that he was capable of taking care of himself. There wasn't any way he'd willingly break the promise that he made to you, right? You even tried turning off your phone and toggling with the data button on it to see if was just that your phone hadn't received the message. But upon turning your phone on, you only saw the same three notifications on your screen from a couple hours back.

You'd call him tomorrow. Check up on Gabriella and him on the process. The thought of him ghosting you came to mind, though it didn't last for very long. He'd been very upfront when it came to telling you the things that displeased him in the relationship. He wouldn't just up and leave without an explanation. Plus, the two of you were doing great and he wouldn't have suggested meeting Gabriella if he wanted to break up. Things were good. You just had to keep repeating that until all the worries in your head disappeared.

Things were good.

So why is it that a week later every single one of your phone calls was getting straight to voicemail?

"Hey Miguel, I know that you're busy with work and whatnot but can you just call me back so I know you're not dead?" You were pacing in the middle of your living room, feeling yourself slowly start to unravel with every automated response that you received. "Okay, well I love you. Please just call me back whenever you have the time," you ended the call, staring at the blank screen before testing your luck again for what seemed to be the 70th time.

"This is Miguel O'Hara speaking. Please state your reason for calling and I'll try to get back to you," you practically spoke with the machine, having memorized it after the nth time of hearing it. It was pointless to leave another message, the deep part of your subconscious was aware of that. And yet, you couldn't help yourself. "Hey, Miguel. I'm sorry about all the calls. Can you just tell me if I did something wrong or something instead of ignoring me? Please," you sounded pathetic to your own ears.

You waited until the designated two days passed by until you called the police department in your precinct, inquiring about any missing reports for Miguel. "Look I don't know how many times you want me to check the damn system but for the fourth time, there's no missing persons report filed for a Miguel O'Hara," the officer sounded agitated on the line, though rightfully so. You'd asked him for the fourth time before he snapped. You hung up, trying other PD's and hospitals. Only to get no results.

Maybe it was a stupid way to cope with the fact that he wanted nothing to do with you anymore. But you couldn't help but call him just to be able to hear his voice on the ringtone, even if he did sound apathetic when speaking. That was until a couple weeks passed by, "Number is disconnected or no longer in service," was the response that you'd received instead of the voicemail that you'd gotten so used to. "No, come on," you muttered to yourself, trying to assure yourself it was a mistake. But upon calling again, you quickly realized that it was not.

Even as the years passed by, you found yourself unable to move on from him. It'd gotten to the point where your friends had to step in, staging an emergency intervention under the pretense of going out for drinks one night. As much as you understood their point and their reasons for believing that you were slightly delusional, you still refused to let him go. His clothes still lingered in the back of your closet, the fresh scent of his cologne still present when you pressed your face against it.

You had no idea what happened to him, and that was partially what kept you from moving on. There was no type of closure, no logical reason for him to leave you or any problems in between the two of you. So you stuck to your selfish, hopeless dream. The dream that one day you'd wake up for work and he'd be knocking on the other side of the door, cup of coffee in hand with a croissant bag in the other. Maybe it was the fact that he'd made you feel loved in a relationship. The person that understood you just by your tics and facial expressions.

"Maybe he just.. doesn't want to make this harder for you," your friend hesitated when you'd picked up a newspaper on your way out the subway. Miguel's face had been on the front of the cover, looking as stoic as ever. Even as he was getting an award for a groundbreaking experiment. As a photographer, you could tell that the lighting wasn't flattering on his skin, the color palette washing him out. But still, you tried to push that thought to the side as the reminder that he was still living out there peacefully without you lingered.

"He'll come back," you muttered, though the words didn't sound believable anymore. You could tell your friend wanted to say something else by the skeptical look on their face, but they simply just offered a hug. "Look, when you're ready to move on, I'll be here to help you," they whispered, rubbing your back. The two of you got a couple sideway glances from the others walking down the street, but you couldn't help but want this hug to last longer. You needed some kind of warmth in your life.

The one good thing that had come out of this situation though was that you finally decided to take his advice and quit your job. You'd spent weeks going from studio to studio, rejection getting thrown in your face a couple times. Each rejection started stinging less and less, simply becoming another name on your list. Though a majority of the studios that rejected you was due to a lack of space, giving you plenty of connections to reach out to though. After a while of submitting job applications, a couple of them managed to land.

Which is how you came to work at the studio you're working at now. While it was slightly painful to do, the copious amounts of ass kissing that you did to your superiors helped you move up the ranks rather quickly. Well that and the diversity in your portfolio, the main point that your employer made sure to highlight. The way that you were able to capture objects and people, capturing them in a way that made the subject interesting no matter what it was. It was nothing mediocre. You knew that now.

Along with the job, the studio offered a couple refresher courses that you took full advantage of. While your skill wasn't bad by any means, you were still determined to get better at it. The courses went over from a range of subjects such as color contrasts, the rule of thirds, and different editing programs that didn't mess with the quality of the photos.

You stared at yourself in the mirror, your gaze immediately going to the necklace adorning your neck. You've been trying to talk yourself into finally taking it off for the last couple months, trying to convince yourself that it was necessary to move on. Your alarm clock blared in the background as a reminder that you were about to late for work, but you stayed still. But taking the necklace off would mean that you'd accepted he wouldn't be coming back. Is that something you'd be willing to do?

You brought your hands to the nape of your neck, reaching for the clasp. Just take it off. It would be simple. Stuffing it in the back of your bathroom drawer, never having to look at it again. Never having to be reminded of the nice memories associated with it. You dropped your hand from the clasp, letting out a small groan. "I'll do it tomorrow," it was the same thing you told yourself in the mirror every day, knowing pretty damn well that you weren't going to actually do it.

Even the meaningless distractions and the amount of clothing that you'd bought for yourself after acquiring an actual paying position at the studio did nothing to fix the empty void. Everything just felt so gray, so static. You'd found yourself missing the most minute things of your routine with Miguel, from brushing your teeth together at the sink after he'd just spent the night to the subtle scratch of his stubble after a couple days of not shaving. You missed having someone to talk to about whatever crossed your mind with little fear of judgement. You missed him.

No number of heels or jewelry that you'd splurge on would heal that.

You checked your watch on your way up the elevator, practically hearing the ticking of it as you were reminded you were late. Probably shouldn't have stopped at that new café that just opened up on the corner of your house. Though the taste of the buttery croissant melting in your mouth almost made any complaints coming your way worth it. You stuffed the last piece in your mouth before approaching your office, wiping away any crumbs that lingered on your shirt.

"I have a meeting scheduled here for... Xina?" You read off the calendar on your tablet, looking up for some kind of confirmation. What you hadn't expected to see was Miguel standing there by her side, his hands stuffed in his pockets. A ticked off expression on his face to top off the cake that this morning was turning out to be.

"You're late," the same tone that he'd used with Dana all those years ago, one of agitation and frustration was now the one that he'd used with you. For the amount of times that you spent criticizing the woman over her decisions, you wouldn't have expected for you to get treated the same way.

You really wanted to be annoyed, demand for an explanation. You'd planned out this moment in your head for years, after all. But upon standing in front of him once more, you felt your mouth dry up. It didn't help that he looked more devastatingly handsome than the last time you saw him. His hair had grown a bit, slight curls forming at the nape of his neck. While he wasn't weak by any means when the two of you were together, his muscles were practically close to ripping the stitching in his black button down top.

The gold Virgencita necklace he had did nothing to help out your case. It was only accentuated by the dark fabric. On his wrist, you could notice a couple beaded bracelets. Each with their own sentence in them, ranging from 'best dad' to 'te quiero mucho.' Well that was if you weren't misreading them while they were upside down. Surely the work of his daughter. Though the thing that had caught your attention the most was the gold band around his ring finger, a sign of his commitment to the woman next to him.

You really needed to stop staring before they got any weird vibes from you. You could do that. You could separate your personal feelings from your work.

"It's just a few minutes, Miguel," the woman next to him spoke, the harshness in his glare losing all intensity when she reached over to hold his hand. He let out a small sigh, almost forcing himself to calm down before nodding slightly. You shook both of their hands, willing yourself not to clasp Miguel's fingers within your own. To feel the slight roughness of his calluses that you'd grown used to. That wasn't something you could do anymore.

"Before we started, would any of you all like something to drink? We have tea, water, and some coffee. Though I wouldn't recommend the coffee," you could play the role of a stranger too, a forced smile making its way onto your face. You felt it falter a couple times but you were quick to school your expression back to normal before anyone could notice.

"No, thank you," Xina responded, placing her hands on the table to scoot her chair in. You caught a glimpse of the diamond ring adorning her finger, if that was even a proper name for it. You had an idea Miguel was rich, but you'd never expect him to be THAT rich. The lights reflected off the diamond, a rainbow hue present on the table.

"I'm alright, thanks," Miguel didn't even bother to look at you while he spoke, his attention solely on the woman next to him. His hand reached out to where hers sat, holding it tenderly. His thumb rubbing small circles on the back of her hand. The same way that he used to do to you.

"Excuse me, miss. Do you happen to have any snacks?" The little girl by his side chimed in, the same little girl you'd seen on those photographs from long ago. Well, now she wasn't exactly too little. She did, however, resemble every bit of Miguel. Even more so now than in the photos you had the pleasure of seeing before.

"Mija, if you eat snacks now you won't be hungry for when we go out to eat later."

"I'll still be hungry, I promise!" Even you knew that it was false, but Miguel found himself being unable to deny the little girl anything. He pulled his wallet out, glimpses of those photos from years ago still visible. Tinted yellow from the time that'd passed by. You couldn't help but peer inside as discreetly as you could, hoping to catch a glimpse of the polaroid in the back. He hastily shut his wallet when he caught you staring at it, shoving it deep into the pocket of his jeans.

Something to confirm that you hadn't just imagined the time that you spent together with him all those years ago. The only photos you saw in his wallet though were those of Gabriella and one of him with his fiancée, surely celebrating their engagement by the pose in the picture. Xina sticking her hand out to the camera, a flashing smile on her face as she looked over at the camera. You couldn't help but feel a pang in your chest when you glanced over at Miguel in that photo, his eyes only locked on her.

A look of adoration that you'd only imagined in fairytales. The way that he looked at her like she was the only woman that mattered in the world. You were snapped out of your trance when you heard his wallet thud shut, looking over at Gabriella when she walked over to Miguel instead. He had a five dollar bill sticking out of his hand, keeping it in his grasp while he finished speaking, "Alright, go get yourself a light snack. And get the nice lady something if she wants."

Nice lady.

That's what you were reduced to now? Just as the lady that treated him with basic manners?

"I will, thank you!" Gabriella yelled out from the hall, practically dashing out the door the second he handed her the money. You pushed any lingering thoughts aside, excusing yourself from the table before going after Gabriella. You found her skipping in the hallway on the way to the vending machine, humming a song to herself on the way.

"I didn't actually have to get anything. I just wanted to talk to you," now that came as a surprise. As far as you knew, Gabriella only knew that Miguel was dating someone in the past.

"Me? Why me?"

She reached for the pocket on the front of her overall, taking out a polaroid. You didn't have to look at it to know what it was. And yet you did, a small smile present on your face at the sight of how happy you and Miguel looked once. The words at the bottom had faded away, leaving grey markings in their wake. "I found it in the trash. I thought I should keep it," she told you, your eyes widening slightly. He wouldn't do that, not after he said he'd value it. But what reason would Gabriella have to lie?

"My dad acted strange for a while. He stopped reading me bedtime stories and putting smiley faces on my food," the little girl sounded melancholy as she spoke, reaching up to put the bill in the machine.  Now that sounded more like the Miguel that you were accustomed to, not the man that was currently in your office. "But he used to talk nicely about you. How I'd love to spend time with you and get to know you. I'm sorry that we didn't get to that."

"Hey, there's nothing to be sorry for. Sometimes things just happen, y'know?" Even if you yourself knew nothing of what exactly happened, you decided to test that out to reassure her. She gave a small nod in response, pressing a button on the machine before a bag of chips dropped down.

"Thought you weren't hungry."

"Well, I lied to him and it'd be pretty obvious if I showed up empty handed." Smart kid.

"I don't know if we should stick with this photographer. I caught her staring at my wallet a couple seconds too long," you heard Miguel through the thin walls complain to his wife, that same tone of annoyance lingering in his voice. He really couldn't tolerate you, huh.

"She was probably just looking at the photos you have in there, don't stress out about it too much. She's the best we'll find with this time crunch."

The conversation came to a halt when you and Gabriella stepped into the room, the crinkling of chips a stark comparison to the quietness. You went over to your bookcase, grabbing your planning binder before going back to your seat across from them. You flipped over to a clean page, playing with the end of your pen as you tried to distract yourself from the reality of the situation. The same ex who'd practically disappeared from the face of the earth was now facing you. Requiring your services.

"We were wondering if we could establish something like a photo booth where the guests could go to take photos rather than it just being a quinceañera situation," Miguel spoke up, looking directly at you. You were hoping to catch a glimpse of something, just the slightest bit of something that would tell you that you weren't just a stranger to him. Maybe not longing but some sort of recognition? But you received nothing. Not even a form of silent acknowledgment that you were still wearing the damn necklace.

"Alright, we can do that," you scribbled down the notes, just the request making you recall the countless complaints that you've had to deal with about a couple of your interns. That the guests couldn't even get a spoonful in without having some fear that a camera would instantly flash in their eyes. "And how would you like the arrangement to be for the both of you? Photos straight out of the chapel and throughout the ceremony or just the photo booth?"

"Well for the two of us, we'd like some photos of us outside of the chapel." Alright, all you had to do was arrange the photo booth before you made your way over to the church to take their photographs. That sounded manageable. You annotated the time that the ceremony and reception would start, writing down a couple possibilities for the time required. You were getting paid by the hour, after all.

"I'd prefer if you could make it something low light. My eyes get sensitive with bright lights," Miguel spoke up, waiting for you to write down the notes before leaning back in his chair. You'd never heard him complain about something like that when you used him as the muse for your photos, but a lot of things were different about him now. You didn't know him anymore. A fact that you had to resign to yourself to.

"How'd the two of you meet, if you don't mind me asking?" It was clear that they mind the question. Silence lingered in the room, both of their stares equally judging. Think. Think. Think. What would be a reasonable excuse for letting your nosiness get in the way of remaining professional?

"I was just wondering since we could set up the booth with something reminiscent of that moment. A couple coffee shaped figures if it was a coffee shop. Books if it was a library. Like a cute little easter egg," you almost had to commend yourself for coming up with that lie so fast. You looked over at Gabriella, seeing her give you a thumbs up on the middle of her trying to watch a YouTube video. Okay, maybe the situation had been salvaged.

"We used to be friends, though we hadn't contacted each other in a while. Before she came into my life as my fiancée, my life just felt very empty. She brought me purpose and a reason to come back home every night," you gripped the pen in your hands as he spoke, almost surprised that the glass didn't shatter. Empty? Empty? Were you just a piece of chopped liver? Maybe you'd gone crazy for real this time around and just imagined yourself dating him. Yeah.

Just coincidentally dated someone who looked exactly like him. You'd be lucky if you didn't go mad by the end of this meeting if your thoughts continued to stray in this direction. You could've sworn you heard a slight crack in the pen you were holding, forcibly loosening your grip on it even though it was the only thing anchoring you down. Just take a couple deep breaths. Go to your happy place. Wait no. That wouldn't work if your happy place was in a beach in the Bahamas with Miguel, right?

Nope. Definitely not.

"Well he comes home most of the time, but y'know how it is with geneticists," Xina remarked, her gaze going over to the pen in your hand before going back up to your face.

"You have no idea," you found yourself muttering, unable to stop the words from coming out. You didn't even have to look over at Gabriella this time to know that she was subtly giving you a thumbs down.

"I'm sorry?"

"Forget it, just a stupid comment." Though she seemed skeptical towards the comment, she decided to leave it be for now.

The rest of the meeting flowed very smoothly, a majority of the conversation staying on work related topics. The other portions had been Xina talking about just how lucky she was to get you as a photographer, how thankful she was for Miguel. "He's just been so supportive throughout this whole process, letting me take reigns of the planning," she'd told you, her face gleaming as she spoke of him. An expression similar to contentment washed over Miguel's face as he watched speak, a hint of a smile on his lips.

"Alright, that'll be all. Thank you for coming to meet with me today," you told the both of them once the plans had been set into stone. You rose up from your seat, the three of them following suit.

"Thank you, it was very nice to meet you," Xina extended her hand out towards you, a polite smile on her face. You shook her hand, returning the pleasantries with as much cheerfulness as you could muster. Which wasn't that much, now that you think about it. But she hadn't noticed anything too strange about your expression so that was slightly reassuring. She and Gabriella left the room, leaving you and Miguel together.

"It was nice meeting you, Mr. O'Hara. My apologies for being late," to which he simply gave a curt nod before making his way to the exit. You went to fix your binder and pens, looking up only when you hadn't heard the click of the door.

Before he had the chance to step out, he stopped and stood by the doorstep to turn around and look at you. You were stuck in between wanting to bask in his presence for just a little bit longer and wanting him to leave. Why couldn't he just leave with the new family he was forming and leave you out of it? He looked like he was trying to see if he recognized you, his brows furrowed slightly in concentration. "I'm sorry if this comes off as a weird question, but have we met before? You seem familiar."

You almost wanted to laugh at the situation. How funny it was that the man you'd swore was the one you were probably gonna end up getting married to was the same one who didn't recognize you now? The same one that spent hours on his knees, devoting himself to worshipping and memorizing every feature of your body. That loved every aspect of yourself, even the aspects that you once thought were unlovable.

While seeing him now was the epitome of painful, knowing that he hadn't even bothered to consider you while he'd gone off to start a new life, this was what you needed to move on. The hope that you once had of him coming home, holding you close to his chest with countless apologies slowly dwindled down throughout this meet before extinguishing completely. You had slowly come to accept how stupid it was to wait for him.

It would've been easy to say yes, to tell him that you were his ex-girlfriend. But the image of the small smiles that he shot at Xina throughout the meeting still stuck in your head, making you consider that decision longer than you should've. You looked up from your notes, realizing that he was still waiting for your answer. After some hesitation, you eventually decided on, "No, I don't believe we've met before. You have me confused with someone else."

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