in a hundred words.

We first made out in the darkroom.

It smelled really bad. The fumes from the chemicals stayed in the tiny, cramped room since the exhaust fan was on the fritz. A dim lightbulb swung above our heads as he helped me develop the few pictures on my roll.

I dunked the last picture into the tray, and I felt his warm breath on my neck. I turned my head, and we locked lips while the photo paper seeped into the chemicals, turning the page a dark, marbled black.

He hated photography. He only took pictures to spend time with me.