𝑷𝑯𝑶𝑻𝑶𝑮𝑬𝑵𝑰𝑪 // Michael Afton x Reader//

||3||

Taking a seat at my assigned desk, I was greeted by Luna sending me a cheerful wave. 'Did you take a photo?' she mouthed to me, and after a moment of figuring out what she asked, I nodded. She sent me a thumbs up, and a moment later, the class started.

Mr. Watson clapped his hands loudly. "Right, class. I assume you have your photos taken so I'll give you a few minutes to develop them in the red room. If you came by yesterday or before class or whatever and already developed it, just place it on your desk and you can hang out for a bit. If don't have a picture, you better get one in the next twenty minutes." And with that, we were sent off to do whatever applied to us.

Entering the red room – Luna beside me with a pep in her step, pestering me about what my photo was only to receive a "you'll see" in response – red light shrouded me; the eerie red glow seeming to swallow me up.

Mixing the chemicals I needed and going through the procedures I was taught, I developed the photo I had taken of the four boys, hanging it up to dry as I eagerly waited to see the final result.

"Seriously (Y/N)! You know I hate surprises. Just tell me," Luna pleaded, but I just shook my head.

"It'll be funnier to see your reaction," I taunted, cocking my head to the side as she pouted. I imagined the shock on her features; lips pulled apart as she gasped, eyes widened to reveal her bright, expressive, green eyes, eyebrows stretched upwards. 

Then I thought about how she might tease me. "Oh, (Y/N), you went to find your Prince Charming after all," she would say, or, "You really can't stay away from him, huh?". My cheeks had begun to heat up in embarrassment when I realized my photo was done, causing me to quickly unclip it before Luna could peek at it.

I shook it a couple of times to make sure it was dry, then – with Luna leaning over my shoulder – flipped it face down and left the room, Luna whining as she followed behind me. "(Y/N)," she dragged out, clutching my sleeve as we walked. I chuckled at her persistence, rolling my eyes playfully.

"You'll see it when we go around the class for the boardwalk," I told her.

"Okay, fine," she then pushed a piece of paper onto my desk. "Here, look at this." It was the photo she took yesterday; orange streams of light stretched across the poster with the doubled-over lady on it.

"Looks good," I said, smiling up at her.

We talked mindlessly about photography and random gossip Susan or Lindsey told Luna, the photograph still faces down on my desk, tempting. When the teacher announced that the boardwalk was beginning, I got up with a chuckle, waiting to see Luna's surprised face as I went over to another classmate's desk, peering at their photo. Luna – flipping over the photograph - shot her head up to look at me, nonplussed as she gawked.

"Wha-" she began before jogging over to me. "You got a photo of Michael and his friends?" she asked, another person taking the spot she left behind.

I shrugged. "Yeah."

She punched my shoulder. "Don't act so chill about this! What happened? Tell me," she urged, bouncing up and down with excitement, her oversized 60's Princeton University sweater – a gift from her father – riding up a little to show her shorts.

I chuckled at her eagerness. "Nothing really. I just ran into them in the old stairwell and asked if I could photograph them and they said yes," I explained, shoving my hands in my pockets. "I haven't actually seen the photo myself," I said sheepishly.

"Well, c'mon!"

She tugged me over to my desk and, looking down at it, I couldn't help but smile. It was a little messy but had the overall sense of kids having fun – like a poster for a coming-of-age movie or the cover for a lame teenage magazine. The old stairwell as the background had an odd, nostalgic feeling to it, like wandering around a small antique shop; old trinkets and objects of the past littering every corner, dust collecting upon the worn-down shelves.

"Looks good, (Y/N)," Mr. Watson said, and when I looked up, he stood there, clipboard in hand as he scribbled something down. He unclipped a piece of paper and laid it on the desk beside the photograph. I picked it up and scanned it. It was my grade; a large '99' written at the top in red pen, a few notes scrawled underneath it.

'Lighting could be a bit better, but it has the right feel. The photo is crisp and the prompt is clear to spot.' 

Luna – peering over my shoulder – gave me a thumbs up. "That's good!" she exclaimed and I nodded.

I owed it to the group of boys. I had no idea what to do beforehand, and with the deadline approaching dangerously close, they practically saved my ass from turning in a half-baked, sloppy photo or not turning anything at it. I would have to thank them the next time I see them – if I ever see them again, that is.