A Deal

Zeke

My roommate Macy and I still haven't found a model for our summer project, and Francis would be the perfect fit… except for one–pretty massive–flaw. The dude is strange. He must have hit his head on a rock when he was drowning earlier. There’s no better explanation.

I texted Macy about Francis, and she immediately replied, asking for pictures. So, as he naps on the beach, I risk looking like a creep and take a quick picture from my lifeguard chair. But it isn’t a quick picture. I'm physically incapable of taking a quick picture. I sigh, lining up the shot. He’s a blank canvas. Borderline translucent skin, pale hair, and colorless eyes. Even his suit is in greyscale. I can’t place why, but he carries this ethereal inhuman air around him that makes me want to take a thousand pictures of him. The air of a possible muse.

The afternoon sun shines down on his face, creating a heavenly glow around Francis. He sleeps like a peaceful angel fallen to earth. Clouds of his knee-length hair curl around him. I snap a picture–or five testing out different settings. I try my best to bring out the pure beauty he exudes, but I don’t think I’ll be able to capture it with my phone. Not to mention, I don’t want to get any closer to him and risk getting caught.

~⛧★♚★⛧~

As I watch Francis drink his mocha like a starved Victorian boy, I question my sanity for thinking it's a bit cute. The guy is fine as hell, but he acts like an edgy middle schooler who watches too much anime. I mean, who introduces themselves as ‘ruler of Hell’ and claims he lost his magic and wings?

After finishing my food, I pull out my phone and check the messages again, hoping our conversation will change somehow.

Zeke: Attachment

Macy: OH. MY. GOD.

Zeke: he's weird tho.

Macy: All the best ones r!!!

…

Pull him or I'm ignoring you for the next month

Luv u XO

It doesn’t matter what I say at this point. Macy has declared Francis the chosen one, and now she will do everything in her power to dress up this poor man. If she were here, she would be chasing him down the beach in her five-inch platform boots. A smile crept its way to my lips at the thought. Turning off my phone, I glance at Francis. His eyes are glued to my phone, but he doesn't say anything. As gross as it sounds, I need to figure out how to take this man home.

“You’re not a creep or anything, right?” I ask, jokingly.

Francis pauses to think for an uncomfortable amount of time. “I don’t think so.”

“Great.” I’ll have to take his word for it. “So, here's the deal. I asked my roommate if you can stay at our place until you find your stuff-”

“That is too kind. I am sure I can find a place to camp out for the night while I find out how to get home.”

“Yeah, you’re not finding a place like that here.”

Francis considers for a moment before saying, “well, if you insist.”

“There’s just one condition. Will you be our model?”

“A model? I have sat for many portraits before. I can do that.”

“No. I mean, yeah, but not really.” I open my phone and slide it over to Francis. “Here’s some of my work.”

Francis eyes the phone with intrigue before picking it up. “What is this?”

“It’s my phone.”

“Ah, I see! This is the device you spoke of earlier. What does it do?” Francis spins the phone in his hands, examining the stickers and polaroids in the case. “Is it magical?”

“Uh, no,” I reply, being reminded a bit too much of showing my grandfather how to use a smartphone. “It sends and receives messages mostly. I don’t really know how it works, honestly.”

“Interesting. I have never heard of such a thing. Back home, the upper class uses crows to send messages. Sorry, you were saying?”

Is this guy messing with me? I can’t tell at this point. Francis passes me back the phone, and I unlock it again, sliding through some recent photos for him.

“My goodness, these are beautiful. How lifelike.”

“They aren’t paintings. They’re pictures taken with a camera.”

“How did you add the color to them?”

“It’s been decades since cameras took photos in black and white.”

Francis hums in curiosity as he leans in to examine a photo of my mother doing Macy’s hair. “Is this girl your spouse? Many of your photos seem to have her in them.”

“Nah, Mace and I are best friends.”

“Why just friends?”

“She already has someone. Plus, I'm gay.”

“Gay as in…homosexual?” When I laugh, Francis blushes profusely before adding, “I'm sorry! Is that not the case?”

“No, that's right. It's just funny hearing you say it like that.”

Sitting back in his chair, Francis glances wistfully at the ocean he almost drowned in a few hours ago. I catch a glimmer of fear in his eyes, but it leaves as quickly as it came. The reality of being lost must be setting in.

Francis forces a polite smile and clears his throat. “If you will allow me, I would be honored to model for you and your friend. I have been told my looks rival those of even the prettiest angels. Surely any pictures you take of me will be stunning.”