Prologue

Somewhere between a blanket of stars and a bed of grass, he realised that the only thing stopping him from pursuing the happiness he craved so much was his physical appearance, and it was sickening to behold - so he hated himself for it.
Except for one boy who thinks no lens, nor camera, nor picture can capture the work of art standing in front of him.
OR the one where Louis hates everything about his look and Harry's a photographer who sneaks a photo of Louis every now and then, when he's not paying attention, to store in his photography folder.