Page 112 of Dark Room Junkie

They both burst into laughter.

“It’s okay, Noé,” Tom reassured me as we got on the tram. “You need someone like Alex. He’s good for you.”

“I hope it’s mutual,” I mumbled.

“Is he working again?”

“Mainly on the book and the exhibition. His commissions had to wait.”

“I’m so excited to see the photos. Have you seen them?”

“A few.”

“You’re so serious,” she nudged me with her shoulder. “I don’t know you like this.”

I just smirked, which was all I could muster. Since moving in with Alex—I still couldn’t bring myself to call this place my new home—I had somehow become more serious. Perhaps because I no longer wore a mask constantly.

I hadn’t been out much in the last four weeks. Tom had accompanied me to return the apartment keys, where I also picked up the rest of my stuff. Besides a few band rehearsals and group meetings, I had mostly been with Alex. I felt comfortable in his presence and had no reason to put on a fake smile because he could see right through me anyway.

At least it was mutual with him. I had left the apartment knowing Alex was on the brink of losing it because of the exhibition. And right now, my nerves were kicking in solely because I knew he was probably close to losing it.

As soon as we got off the tram, I picked up the pace, eager to see him. The opening had already begun, and numerous people had shown up. While Tom and Mia mingled with the crowd, I made my way past the visitors to the back room, which was a small kitchen with a side table and two chairs.

“Alex?” I called out, taking off my jacket.

I heard a hissing sound from the toilet. I immediately ran over and swung the door open. Alex was just putting away the asthma spray and leaning on the sink.

“Hey, are you okay?”

He nodded and forced a smile, then took a deep breath. “Shit, I’m so nervous,” he gasped.

I stroked his back and wrapped my arms around him. “Everything will be fine. There are already a lot of people out there who are here for your photos.”

“Have you seen them? The photos, I mean.”

“No, I came straight to you.”

I kissed his cheek and glided my hand over his head again.

“Thank you. I feel better now.”

We laughed, and he squeezed my hand. Leaning forward, he rinsed his mouth and ran his wet fingers through his hair, while I straightened his jacket.

“How was the group?” he asked.

“Good,” I answered, concentrating, then I paused and locked eyes with him. “Today, I spoke for the first time.”

He placed his palm on my cheek and gave me a warm smile. “I’m glad for you.”

The way he looked at me, his eyes sparkling, softened me, so I put my hands around his head and kissed him. “Everything will be fine. Your photos are amazing. And now go out there, or it’ll soon be too late, and I won’t be able to let you go.” I grasped his shoulders and turned him around, urging him to step out into the gallery in front of us. “Enjoy the spotlight!”

As he engaged in conversation with the first guests, I noticed him slipping into the role of the photographer. Confidence emanated from him, and he appeared at ease. With a quick glance over his shoulder, he made sure I was still there. I nodded and smiled.

I watched him for a while, but when a woman approached me with a tray full of glasses, I lost sight of him. Grabbing an orange juice, I strolled around the exhibition. However, when I saw the photo of myself from a distance, I turned on my heel and went in the other direction. Near the shop window hung the picture of the surgeon, whose arrogance had caught my attention in the darkroom. A guy with honey-blond hair stood in front of the photo, appearing lost in thought as he stared at it. He looked somehow familiar, so I went over to him.

He didn’t notice me at first but then recognized me and raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Noé, what are you doing here?”

“Lucien, right?” I asked, somewhat uncertain, and smiled.

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