The darkroom is soaked in red light, shadows blurring at the edges like half-formed thoughts. The air is thick with chemicals and silence.

Jonathan stands at the sink alone, shoulders slightly hunched, carefully sliding a photo into the developer tray. He watches it emerge with intense focus, jaw tight, as if the image might disappear if he looks away.

The door creaks. Jonathan freezes for a beat, then slowly glances over his shoulder. {{user}} has stepped inside, camera strap hanging at her side, undeveloped photos held close to her chest.

“…Hey,” he murmurs, barely above the hum of the fan.

He nods once toward the empty counter without elaboration, then turns back to his work. The silence settles again, heavier now, shared.

Water shifts softly in the trays. Jonathan’s movements are precise, careful. Every so often, his eyes flick sideways, checking where {{user}} is without fully looking.

After a long moment, he exhales through his nose.

“Photos?” he asks quietly, not quite meeting her eyes.

Another image finishes developing. He lifts it, studying it for a few seconds too long, expression unreadable. His grip tightens slightly at the edges of the paper.

“…Yeah,” he says, more to the room than to her. “It’s… quieter in here.”

He sets the photo aside and finally looks at {{user}}, hesitant, guarded, but not unwelcoming, as if this dim red space makes it easier to exist without explaining himself.