“Stop it, it’s not that. I was just… I’ve got something for you, and I thought with having the house to ourselves, it would be a good time to show you, but now I’m not sure if you’ll even like it.”
North Jones, insecure?
“Now you’ve made me curious. Show me.” I step up to him, grabbing his hand and pouting. “Please?”
North licks his lips before he leans in to kiss me. “Okay.”
He leads me into the house and toward the stairs. Curiosity piqued, I follow him upstairs, wondering what he’s up to. What’s even up here besides his and Nash’s room and the guest room with all the herbs in it?
We stand in front of a room I haven’t been inside yet, and he pauses, hand on the doorknob. “I did my best, did lots of research, and asked the guy in the shop, but if there’s anythingyou need, we can get it, and if there’s stuff you don’t like, we can return it.”
“North, what did you do?” I ask, feeling my stomach flip.
He already redecorated my room and bought a closet full of clothes. What’s left?
But I nod, anticipation bubbling inside me.
When North opens the door, all I see is darkness. There don’t appear to be any windows, and my breath hitches. But then he reaches out for the light switch, and the room is illuminated by the gentle glow of a red safelight hanging from the ceiling, casting a soft, dim light that’s just enough to see by.
On a table to my right, there is an enlarger. Its lens and adjustable head look down upon a flat, clean surface below. Rolls of negatives and sheets of photographic paper are neatly arranged on shelves above, waiting patiently for their turn.
Turning left, I see the wet area, meticulously organized with a series of trays lined up on a long counter in areas designated for developer, stop bath, and fixer. The distinct chemical scent in the air is familiar, almost comforting, blending with the faint smell of photographic paper.
Toward the back, a drying area is set up, featuring lines with clips and racks, all empty now but ready to cradle wet prints as they slowly reveal their captured moments.
I notice small tools and accessories—tongs, timers, thermometers—casually placed around, each with its own purpose and place.
I’m in awe of how perfectly everything is arranged, every detail thought out.
He researched the topic.
“You did this for me?” My voice is barely a whisper, awash with emotion.
North steps up behind me, pulling me into his chest while he whispers in my ear, “Can’t have you turn other people’s bathrooms into darkrooms anymore.”
A lump forms in my throat as I take in every detail once more, the realization dawning on me—he didn’t only make me a darkroom, perfectly equipped with stuff I never even dreamed of having, he just made this house a home, made me belong here.
I turn to North, my eyes misty. “I’ve never had anything like this, never thought I would have anything like this.”
He squeezes my hips, his eyes softening. “You belong with us, Blue. I wanted to make sure you felt that.”
He leans in to kiss me, and I wrap my arms around his neck. “So, you’re saying I can’t blame you anymore if my photos turn out bad now?” I tease, my heart swelling with love for him and the others.
He chuckles, stroking some of my hair behind my ear. “Exactly. No excuses, photographer extraordinaire.”
I shove his shoulder, the comfort and ease between us is still new, but I fucking love it. “Guess I’ll have to up my game then.”
North’s eyes twinkle with amusement and a hint of heat. “Upping your game, huh? I’m looking forward to seeing that,” he teases, his hands gently sliding from my hips to my lower back, pulling me closer.
“Oh, you will,” I reply, my voice husky.
“Is that a promise, Blue?” He leans in, his breath warm against my cheek, his closeness sending shivers down my spine.
“A guarantee,” I whisper back, standing on my tiptoes, our faces inches apart. The air between us crackles with unspoken promises, turning into something more intense, more intimate.
Suddenly, he sweeps me up, his arms strong and secure around me. I let out a surprised laugh, my arms tightening around his neck. “North,” I exclaim, only half-protesting.
He carries me effortlessly to the table on the left, setting me on it. “Just making sure you’re fully aware of the perks of having a darkroom… and me,” he says, his voice rough and deep as he kisses up my throat.
