Harold Beaumont's Bruises

Darkroom

Joey's POV

My damp clothes sticks to my skin as rain pours down on me, and the city of New Orleans. I just started my morning walk, and only a block away from my apartment I'm just about soaked through my hoodie. The rain suddenly stops falling on me, my head whips up, knocking my hood clear off my head to find a red umbrella hovering over me.

"Mornin." Harold mutters quietly, a Cafe Du Monde bag gripped in his hand. "I got you breakfast." He offers, and I take the bag without a word. Standing in the middle of the wet street we don't say anything to each other. I'm not going to talk to him after that attitude yesterday. Everyone has bad days, I understand that, but how many times am I going to get hurt when he's in a bad mood?

"I'm sorry about yesterday." Harold apologizes, his voice heavy. All my frustration and spite disappears, and I release a breath I didn't know I was holding.

"I'm forgiving you, but mostly because of these beignets." I joke, shaking the doggy bag. Harold releases a sigh, and his handsome face brightens.

"Can I walk you to the gym?" Harold offers. It's barely eight, he must have woke up really early. The morning rush line at the Cafe rounds the block, then to race over here to the Art District before I left must have been a stressful morning commute.

"I'm not going to the gym today, I'm going to Tulane university to use their darkroom." I state.

"Oh." He pipes up, the bright look vanishing. "Can I go with?" He asks. Yes, I think instantly. Pressing my lips into a firm line I try not to let my feelings rush off like a runaway train. I would love for Harold to tag along, I love it when it's just the two of us. But... The idea of just Harold and I sends my heart beating abnormally. I'm already getting jittery.

"What about morning practice?" I ask, my nerves finding an excuse why we can't be alone together.

"I'm pretty sure I'm still going to be good at boxing if I skip morning practice." Harold's arrogant smirks grows across his lips, making my stomach flutter.

"You're going to be bored out of your mind." I find yet another reason. Standing on your feet for hours in a pitch dark room only appeals to photographers.

"I'll find a way to keep busy." He says lowly, and I have to fight off chills. I tell myself it's just the rain, but I know it's not the rain.

----

It's pitch black, I can barely see my hand in front of my face, but I'm aware of every inch between Harold and I. He's on the opposite side of the darkroom, but the darkness makes it feel like he is just centimeters away me. Away from the crowded New Orleans streets, and the constantly buzzing gym, it is just Harold and I in this small dark room.

"Are you bored yet?" I ask, trying to fill the room up with small talk. Trays full of water sit in a neat room in front of me on a table. Film floats under the surface the water, reflecting the dim red light the darkroom gives off.

"No." He tries to spare my feelings, but I can hear the faked enthusiasm in his voice. Harold is never enthusiastic about anything. I give him a knowing look, which he probably can't see.

"Okay, I'm bored." He admits. I knew it. "But only a little bit." He adds.

"Knock knock." I start without thinking.

"Are you really trying a knock knock joke?" Harold asks, through the darkness I can feel his disapproving expression aimed at me.

"You said you were bored." I defend. It's a bad habit, growing up with so many foster siblings I developed a habit of breaking out into puns whenever one of the kids whined about boredom. It's like I go into a state of hypnosis at the utter of boredom. "Come on, let's have a little fun." I add.

"Who's there?" Harold gives in with a sigh.

"A broken pencil." I grin.

"A broken pencil who?" He says flatly.

"Never mind, it's pointless." I smile brightly at Harold, a note of giddiness ringing in my voice. I can see Harold's perfect white teeth glow in the dark as he grins. It's probably a miracle they haven't been punched out yet.

"That wasn't punny." My laugh cuts through the darkness. Harold's pun brightens my mood, even the rainy day just outside the darkroom. I like this side of Harold. Under all the bruises and glares there's a care free guy who just wants to be understood. I don't know why Noley wants the world to only see this angry, brooding boxer that feels nothing but hate towards everything and everyone.

"What pictures are you printing?" Harold's voice pulls me out of my thoughts. I was so engrossed in my mind I didn't hear him cross the room over to my side. My head whirls at how close he is, I have an urge to just reach out and touch him.

"Um," I struggle to make my brain and mouth work at the same time "just a couple to frame for Mr. Bernard, and a few of my favorites." I manage. He's so close. He towers over me, up close and personal I can't help but notice how taunt his muscles are, or how rich his cologne smells.

In the little space between us in this darkroom I realize how I've fallen for Harold Beaumont. A depth as big as skydiving from the troposphere without a parachute.

"I'm not sure if it's just the bad lighting or me, but you looks like you really have to pee." Harold points out, snapping me right out of my stupor.

"Must be the lighting." I shrug, going along with the convenient wording.

"What are your favorites?" He inquires, examining the developing soaked film.

"Just two. The one of Toby dodging Bae Lee's punch, the one with that mind blowing tattoo." I start, that beautiful dragon tattoo bright in my mind. "And..." I look up at Harold through the dark. It feels perfectly normal to love Toby's photo, but my other favorite feels, well, indicative. "And... yours. The one I took when we meet." I answer, my heart stirring up.

"God, stop being so in love with me, Joey." Harold sarcastically jokes. My face goes as red as the red bulb giving us red dimness.

"Me? In love with you?" I snort nervously, my voice almost cracking. Everything just stopped for a moment, time, our friendship, everything just stopped. My heart pounds in my ears as Harold's brown eyes burn a hole through me. Oh god.

My mouth drops into an O of horror, and my eyes widen. That completely back fired on me, I absolutely gave myself away. My hands fly up to cover my mouth, and I stumble backwards till my back hits a wall, I have nowhere else to go. I'm burning with white hot humiliation, I feel like an idiot. I wasn't going to act on my feelings, because I knew Harold would look at me like he's looking at me now.

Our eyes lock through the thick darkness, everything so still, and tense, it's maddening. Then big hands cup the back of my neck and force my head up. My hands grab hold of his chiseled face like I'm falling off the edge of a cliff, and I'm holding on for dear life. Rough, chapped lips press hard against mine, making my toes curl up in my shoes.

Just as fast as it happened Harold rips away, gaping at me just as I'm gawking up at him.

"You're in love with me?!" He suddenly bursts like I just said I kick puppies for fun.

"I-I wouldn't say l-love." I stutter. I just met Harold, I can't love him. Having feelings for him isn't exactly love. Mothers love their newborns, husbands love their wives, dogs love their owners, but I can't be in love with Harold Beaumont after two weeks.