I never liked having my picture taken.
I disliked the camera's ability to capture an image of me so realistically from my dark circles to my sickeningly pale skin. I hated how in every picture I frowned, and in every picture, you could tell that I absolutely despised it.
I wasn't always so against photos. Back in grade school, when I didn't have my dark circles, I enjoyed having my photo taken. Every time my mother or father pointed a camera at me to make memories, I would smile as bright as I could, showing my shiny white row of teeth. I still had that huge album of my old pictures and I would stare at it with rancor but could never bring myself to get rid of it.
It wasn't until High School that I truly hated having my picture taken. It was then did I get the hideous dark blemishes around my eyes which made my already pale skin appear paler. It was then that I got made fun of for my height and was constantly bullied by the other kids. It was then that I told myself to never take any photos during my High School years because they were the worst moments of my life.
Old habits die hard, you could say. My animosity for my photos never deteriorated.
However, one fated night on my way home from work, I literally bumped into the best mistake ever. I was in my mid-twenties at the time, graduated college not too long ago and was a newly hired business man going home from his first week of work. I was in a hurry to get home so I wasn't exactly paying attention to where I was going.
I collided with a student who didn't look much older than twenty, and to my rotten luck he was holding a camera. And it was one of those expensive ones too, so you knew this kid had to be serious about photography. The camera wasn't one of those disposable ones that only took a few pictures or so. This one cost real guap. Not that I would know for sure, I wasn't a camera-maniac.
I was reluctant to help him up, but I did so anyway because he looked so dejected. The kid looked like he was about to cry and he was unstable on his feet.
I remembered wondering just what the hell was I doing, and why I was even considering to walk the kid home.
It's raining, I had reasoned. And you got paid, I recalled thinking. So I was in a good enough mood to let the whole camera thing slide, and to help out a crestfallen student who didn't deserve to face the wrath of a sour businessman who had no reason to hold a grudge over him.
He looked so grateful, and his inexplicably colored eyes lit up like the city lights. He introduced himself as Eren, and I told him that I was Levi. I allowed him to stand under my umbrella as I walked this stranger home.
I had hoped to not start a conversation with him, but the kid was already running his mouth, making me doubt his previous despondence. I let it slide, just listening without replying much, just the occasional "yes"s and "mm"s.
It wasn't until he brought up photography that I actually responded. And when I did, it wasn't the nicest of replies.
"I hate photography." Were my exact words. I hadn't bothered sugar-coating them and I didn't bother looking apologetic either. I said it without taking it back or feeling an ounce of guilt.
Strangely this only made him laugh and with that, our first meeting came to an end. He thanked me then disappeared into his house.
After that, we kept clashing. Cafes, stores, you name it. We met so often that the both of us accused the other of stalking. It was preposterous for two people to meet so often without it being planned. Coincidences did not happen that regularly. I wasn't particularly against seeing the kid so often, but it was kind of obscure for me.
At some point, we decided to just accept it. It wasn't a spoken agreement or a solid decision, but one day, Eren just sat down on the seat across from mine at a table and we chatted over our cups of tea and coffee.
