Jeremy reshouldered his bulky camera bag and wound his way to the back staircase that led to the basement of Wilson Hall. He had two hours free, and with luck the darkroom would be his alone during that time.
He took a mostly forgotten stairway so he could avoid passing through the student publication offices. He wished that the basement didn't make him so nervous.
It didn't help that the former library had been retrofitted for offices over the decades and now resembled a human-sized rat maze, particularly on the lowest level. The first time he tried to find the men's room down there, he got so lost that he finally had to use the outdoor exit and start over again from the front of the building.
But the basement was the only spot for photojournalism students to develop film, so that's where he needed to be. The student publications had all converted to digital photography a few years ago, but the Photo J class was still holding out. This would be the last class that had to learn how to use fixer and developer and how to roll film in the dark or what the hell a stop bath was.
Jeremy was glad he got to take this class before it too converted. He loved this old fashioned way of creating images and seeing them form in front of his eyes. With digital, there was an instant gratification; if a shot didn't turn out, you just changed some settings and tried again. No blown assignments, no surprises, but also no magic.
Jeremy bounded down the stairs, pleased that he had avoided any awkward encounters this time. He just wanted to lose himself in the dark and watch his shots of the play's dress rehearsal come to life.
He spun around the corner at the bottom of the stairs and promptly found himself on his butt.
"Woah, hey there buddy." A tall, lean man with dirty blond hair and smiling brown eyes stood over him. "You okay?"
Jeremy's wind had been knocked out in the landing, but that wasn't the only reason he was having trouble breathing. He recognized the man above him as one of the editors, but he couldn't remember which publication. He did remember the hair, though -- blondish, spiked, something he wanted to reach out and touch. And now he'll always remember the view from the floor, up those long legs and well-fitting jeans. His gaze was caught at crotch level for a long moment until he heard a soft chuckle.
"Need a hand there?" The editor pulled him up with a quick tug, but he held on to Jeremy's hand longer than necessary.
"Um, thanks," Jeremy said, adjusting his bag. "And sorry. About the, um, running into you."
"Yeah, where's the fire?"
"Oh, darkroom." Jeremy gestured toward the door at the end of the hallway.
"The darkroom is on fire?"
Jeremy smiled and looked down. "I hope not. I don't think Dr. Jordan would take that as a late excuse."
"Aw, Sophie's a pushover." He gave Jeremy an appraising look. "You must be a freshman if she's managed to convince you that she's at all vicious. Only freshmen call her Dr. Jordan."
"Well, you've figured me out, I guess."
"Not really, I don't think. What's your name, anyway?"
"Jeremy." He stuck his hand out automatically. "Franken."
Long fingers wrapped around his smaller hand and held on, warming him through. "Bryan Ross. Are you on the newspaper or something? I don't think I would have missed you if you were on the yearbook with me."
"Neither. Only Photo J class so far."
"So far? Still deciding?"
"Sort of." How did he explain that both publications still intimidated him? He didn't want to seem like a silly, scared freshman, even if that was true.
"Allow me to put a plug in for the Ivy, then," Bryan said. "It's a well-known fact that yearbookers have more fun." He winked.
Jeremy had heard about the long work weekends that the yearbook editors devoted to their deadlines. He also heard about the post-deadline celebratory parties.
"Besides," Bryan continued, "we can always use more good photographers. And the best place to showcase your work is through my beautiful designs."
"How do you know I'm any good?" Jeremy countered.
Bryan quirked an eyebrow. "Instinct."
They held each other's gaze as the seconds ticked by. Was this guy flirting with him? Jeremy cursed his utter lack of gaydar, the biggest liability in his social life and probably the reason he was still a virgin at 19. He couldn't tell if he was projecting his own sparks of desire on this guy or if it was mutual. He decided to solve it the way he solved everything -- through a quick escape.
"Better get going on this film, then."
Bryan stepped aside just enough to let him pass. "Enjoy the fumes."
Jeremy turned around and grinned. "I do, actually." He entered his photo sanctuary, unaware of the hungry brown eyes following his movement until he disappeared.
*****
The first hour passed as it always did in the darkroom -- quickly, happily, lost in his tasks. He went through the familiar process of developing his latest rolls of film, agitating the tanks, waiting for the seconds and minutes to pass until the next step.
Because he could do this in his sleep, he let his mind drift to his earlier encounter. Bryan, the guy's name was Bryan. He looked like a runner, like those guys on the cross country team in high school who ran the length of Lancet Parkway every fall.
If he was on the yearbook, then that meant Bryan would be down here all weekend, most every weekend. The two staffs basically took turns with the computers; the Courier editors cleared out after their Wednesday deadline and the Ivy staff moved in until Sunday.
I wonder if the darkroom would be busy over the weekend,
Jeremy thought. He wouldn't mind bumping into Bryan again -- literally.
Bumping, and other things. The one touch of Bryan's hand was enough to wake him up all over. He shook hands with people all the time, but it never felt like that before.
I bet his hands would feel incredible on my --
The timer pulled him out of his thoughts. He hung the last long roll in the drying closet, next to seven others. Even though they weren't all assigned, he had decided to keep his skills sharp, so he shot a basketball game, a late night study group in the library, a candlelight vigil and the iced-over trees on campus after the last winter storm. Some of these were weeks old, so they didn't have priority over real assignments.
Those negatives would take hours to dry, so he went to the next room to make prints for class. Just after his first class that morning, he had quickly developed his photos of the spring play, and now he was eager to see if the prints matched his vision.
He flipped on the battered stereo. KBRX was apparently doing a seventies show because a college rock station wouldn't be playing "You Sexy Thing" otherwise. Jeremy let his lithe body sway to the irresistible rhythm, even as he bent over the light table to examine his negatives.
He brushed his floppy chestnut hair out of his eyes and marked his shots with a grease pencil. Then over to the enlarger to make his images appear on the paper before his eyes. He hung up his wet prints to dry, pleased with the results. He bopped his head and danced backward to "Slow Ride" - and bumped into a warm body.
He gave an undignified squeak and spun around into a pair of strong arms. Bryan held him steady and smiled down on the easily startled freshman.
"Christ!" Jeremy gasped. "How long have you been there?"
"Long enough to believe in miracles," Bryan purred.
