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Darkness, held for a few seconds too long. Bold white text suddenly onscreen, all caps:

BUTTONS

Hard cut~/ to a shot of a young man's belly. He lies on crumpled white sheets, the camera off to the side of the body, focused on him as he lies on his side. The viewer can see from just below the ribs to about halfway down his calves. He is wearing loose cotton boxer shorts, the grey of faded black.

The room is indistinct - or out of focus - and the viewer’s eyes are drawn to the pale skin just above the belly button. Eyes trace up and along the curve of his hip as it slips under the elastic of his waistband. Slim, but not skinny. Not tanned. Freckles scattered along the hip, hairs trail up towards his heart.

A convulsion rocks from the lungs down, and what had seemed like silence is punctuated by a sob, singular and deep.

The body, his body, appears without movement to press deeper into the sheet. The length of this second is uncomfortable. The shot never moves. Out of shot the right leg stretches, giving room for the left to slip forwards. It accentuates that curving hip, stretches the waistband. A gap the width of a finger forms between his hip and belly, and there is a flash – a tiny moment – where one might believe there is something erotic in the vulnerability of a young man crying.

Cut to black~/

Lens flare bursts onscreen. There is at once too much light.

Shadows creep in from the edges, indistinct fingers encroaching on the heart of the sky. Branches. Now petals. Now the blue of the sky.

The focus draws on the palest pink springtime blossom. Wind animates them gently, and a very soft breeze can be heard - a snap crunch of sound - cut~/

To a camera lens, winking and reacting to the tilting sun and shadows. An almost inaudible whirr accompanies each flickering shift of focus.

The camera can be seen almost in profile, filling the bottom left of the shot. The tip of a branch reaches toward it from the upper right. The lens is snubnosed, the body of the camera aping far older models. There is the early indication that a patina of use may form. But not now. Not yet.

Cut~/ to the camera, face on. The lens and body fill the screen and fingers hold it steady. In the eye of the lens the winking electric movements seem more and more like a pupil struggling in the light. The barest reflection of swaying branches.

The fingers. They belong to a young woman, but the nails are short and unvarnished and the viewer may not be able to tell. They are slender, but without scale or context they are merely fingers.

Cut~/ The top of the camera's body. A shot in macro detail. The tip of the photographers pale index finger twitches on a button. The button mimics metal, but enough of its surface has been worn in service to reveal the white plastic below the coating. Pressure is applied, the blood in the finger draining for a moment, before an instant of tension and -click-

Cut to black~/

Black jeans. A white cotton blouse tucks into the waistband. Background music leaks soft synth. Candlelight casts a warm glow. The sentences short. Hips move. She sighs and shifts position. Slender fingers trace along the blouse and run under the lip of jeans. She sighs and shifts position, leaving room for his fingertips to run freely back and forth. They follow unseen contours under the denim. He exhales. They both move to a pulse thundering somewhere out of shot. It could be a heart. Movement stops. She sighs and shifts position. The blouse bundles a fraction. Fingers under the waistband find purchase and slide the fabric up, exposing just an inch of pale waste, freckle free, before they slip back out of sight. In time, goosebumps appear. She sighs and shifts position. He sighs. There is a sound, the quietest, of lips brushing. His fingers slip under the waistband deeper, a little faster than they ought to. The hem nips into his wrist and the pressure forces blood from freckled skin. She sighs, high, and shifts position, pushing her pelvis into his hand, denim and cotton rustling. The music swells and fades. There is a sigh, masculine now. Choked frustration. The hand withdraws. She sighs and shift position and we see her right hand move through the shot to take his. Her left pops the button of her jeans, flicking the brass zip down an inch. Black lace. We hear him sigh and the sound of wet lips on skin. She inhales and shifts position, his glistening fingertips slip under. Cut to black~/

She sighs. She sighs. She shifts position. We see nothing.

Silence.

Cut~/ A close shot. Chrome plug socket and white plastic plugs. The switches are off. Two fingers move quickly to flick them on. Black plastic kettle. The clicking sound of an element igniting. A button is pushed and we hear the crackling grinding jostle of coffee beans. The shot holds here for less than a minute. It feels longer by far.

Cut~/ to a mug. Plain green with a curved rim. A ceramic filter clatters the top and this shot is held for 4 min. In succession we hear;

the grinding stop

fiercer water boiling

a plastic click

powder poured onto paper

plastic on ceramic tapping

the slowing roil of water boiled, and a plastic click

the pop of a lid

the silence of boiled water

the flush of water on powder and the hiss of powder clumping

a slow drip of hot water on ceramic

a slow trickle of water on water

gristly click of plastic on plastic

time

the sound of a trickle slowing to a drip

the hiss and crackle of water draining from powder

scrape of ceramic Cut to black~/

Cut~/ to another close shot. A circular bulb set back into pale grey plastic. It is on. The light is stark, bright and unremarkable. The low drone of an engine at altitude. A cabin light. A finger reaches toward it.

Cut~/ to an ovoid window, blind raised, set into pale white plastic. An aircraft window. Only darkness beyond.

Out of shot a click is made and the light plastic no longer glows. As the camera focus shifts pricks of light become visible beyond. The camera slowly tracks closer.

The orange glow of the distant city through a window at altitude. Lights snake out into pools of colour and blocks of black. In clusters individual lights are impossible to track. Speeding whites and reds dart in and out at the fringes. Floodlit spires emit odd spools of purple. A football pitch gleams some way distant.

The camera tracks through the window, turning back as it does to show the outline of a man’s hand pressed against the window.The whistle of the wind drowns out the clink of light, so the white glow comes as a surprise. It washes out to white.

Cut~/ a close shot of a doorbell. It's a new plastic one, on a scratched wooden frame. Just above the bell is a patch of motley blue paint, the outline of where a bigger button once sat.

A long finger jabs the button and deep inside an electronic bell jingles. Pacing and shuffling for a few seconds, but no sound from inside.

The pacing stops, just the rustling of trees for a moment.

The finger jabs again. A newly cut fingernail, the skin carrying the recent echo of a longer cuticle. Still no sound from inside. Another longer jab, the finger blushing white and red with the pressure. Shoes shuffle on a gritty path and muffled curses accompanying a tedious imitation of a bell.

Cut to black~/

Hard cut~/ A wooden floor, the shot set-up about 4 feet from a white skirting board. Oak. Modern, recent, clean.

The sound: Sheets shifting. The pursing and pressing and parting of lips. Hot breath, all out of shot.

Cloth on cloth, the swipe of hands and knees and arms on bedding. Gasps and groans escape mouths that cannot be seen. So different in tone, but without context gender is hard to distinguish. Man and woman? Two men perhaps, teasing and sparring. The speed suggests something heavy and tender. Desire and trust.

A longer shuffle and shift, the bed creaking with movement, grunts and want. A tug, followed by several muted pops. A tinkle of tiny buttons bursting against walls and floor, all out of shot. The gasps ratchets up in intensity, as two lone buttons roll into shot.

The focus remains on the buttons, and the bed begins to rock and creek. Both voices pause and the silence pounds around the shot. Then a shuffle. The light clicks off, pitch dark, as zips and clasps rasp through the black.

Cut to black~/

Bold white text suddenly onscreen, all caps:

BUTTONS