Elara Quinn woke before the alarm, the room still bruised with night. Nova slept on her stomach beside her, one arm flung across Elara's waist, fingers curled like she was afraid even dreams might steal her away. The fairy lights had burned low, casting gold flecks across Nova's bare back, the sheet tangled low on her hips. Elara watched the slow rise and fall of her breathing and felt something dangerous settle in her chest: the certainty that she would burn the world down before she let anyone hurt this girl again.
She slipped from bed without waking her. The floor was cold. She padded to her desk, opened the bottom drawer, and pulled out the small black envelope she had kept hidden since move-in week. Inside: six prints. The ones she had promised herself she would never develop. The accidental flash series. Nova changing. Nova naked. Nova caught mid-motion, startled and luminous, body arched like a question mark. The images were raw, almost violent in their intimacy. Elara's hands shook as she laid them on the desk like evidence.
She had lied when she deleted the file in front of Nova that first night. She had moved it to a hidden folder instead. Insurance, she told herself then. Proof that the moment was real. Now the lie felt like a bruise she kept pressing.
Nova stirred. "Come back," she mumbled, voice thick with sleep.
Elara shoved the prints into the envelope, slid it under a stack of notebooks. "Bathroom," she whispered. She grabbed sweats and escaped.
The hallway was empty at 4:57 a.m. She locked herself in a stall, heart hammering. She opened her phone, scrolled to the hidden album, and stared at the thumbnails until her eyes burned. Delete them. Keep them. Delete them. Keep them. The loop made her nauseous.
She settled on a compromise that felt like cowardice: she would print one more set, smaller, wallet-sized, and hide them in her poetry notebook. Physical copies could not be hacked or leaked. Then she would wipe the digital originals forever. A clean cut.
Back in the room, Nova had rolled onto Elara's pillow, hugging it, face buried in the indent where Elara's head had been. The sight punched the air from Elara's lungs. She crawled in behind her, spooning close, arm tight around Nova's waist.
Nova sighed, pushed back into her. "You okay?"
"Perfect," Elara lied.
They dozed until Nova's phone buzzed at six. Practice. She groaned, but Elara kissed the nape of her neck until she laughed and got up. Elara pretended to sleep while Nova dressed, but she watched through slitted eyes: the flex of Nova's calves as she pulled on compression shorts, the way her sports bra hugged the small of her back, the scar on her thigh catching the dawn light like a secret.
Nova leaned over the bed, kissed Elara's forehead. "See you at eight. Coffee run after?"
"Bring me the biggest one," Elara mumbled.
Door clicked shut. Silence rushed in.
Elara waited five minutes, then bolted to the darkroom key she had signed out for "independent study." Campus was still asleep. She moved like a thief.
The darkroom smelled of vinegar and possibility. Red safelight glowed. She worked fast: loaded the negatives, mixed fresh developer, agitation rod clicking like a heartbeat. The images bloomed in the tray one by one. Nova's body emerging from nothing. Skin tones perfect. Shadows deep enough to hide in.
She printed twelve wallet-sized on matte fiber paper. Dried them under the press. Cut them with the rotary blade, edges clean. Each tiny photo felt like a sin she could hold in her palm.
Back in the room by 7:40, prints hidden in the poetry notebook between pages of half-written confessions. She showered quick, dressed in black jeans and Nova's stolen hoodie that smelled like coconut and track chalk.
Nova returned at 8:12, two steaming cups in hand. She kicked the door shut, set the coffees down, and pulled Elara into a kiss that tasted like espresso and morning. "Coach says I'm starting in the 400 next meet. Two weeks."
Elara's heart swelled. "That's my girl."
Nova flushed, ducked her head. "Your girl, huh?"
"Unless you object."
Nova answered by pushing her against the desk, hands sliding under the hoodie. No bra. She cupped Elara's breasts, thumbs circling nipples until they peaked hard. Elara's head fell back, moan slipping free.
"Door's locked?" Nova whispered.
"Always."
They didn't make it to the bed. Nova lifted Elara onto the desk, papers scattering. She yanked the hoodie up, mouth latching onto a breast, sucking hard. Elara's fingers dug into Nova's braid, pulling loose. Nova dropped to her knees, dragged Elara's jeans and underwear down in one motion. Cool air hit wet skin. Then Nova's tongue, hot and sure.
Elara came fast, thighs clamping Nova's head, cry muffled by her own fist. Nova stood, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, eyes dark.
"Your turn." Elara slid off the desk, pushed Nova onto the bed. Stripped her running gear with frantic efficiency. Nova's body glistened with fresh sweat. Elara licked a stripe up her abs, tasting salt and effort. She settled between Nova's legs, two fingers sliding in deep. Nova arched, gasped her name.
Elara curled her fingers, thumb on clit, mouth on Nova's neck leaving fresh marks. Nova came with a broken sob, hips bucking, nails raking Elara's back.
They lay panting. Coffee forgotten and cold.
"Best morning ever," Nova said.
Elara kissed her slow. "We're just getting started."
Classes blurred. Elara sat in photo lecture, zoning out while the professor droned about Ansel Adams. She doodled Nova's hip bones in the margins. Nova texted from seminar: *thinking about your tongue. send help.*
Elara replied with a close-up of her own bite mark on her inner thigh, taken in the bathroom mirror. Nova sent back three drooling emojis and a voice note that was just heavy breathing.
Afternoon darkroom again. Elara printed safe photos this time: Nova mid-stride on the track, Nova laughing over pasta, Nova asleep with fairy lights in her hair. She hung them above both beds like a shared constellation.
Evening brought rain. Hard, lashing Vireo City into silver streaks against the window. They studied on Nova's bed, calc books open, laptops glowing. Thunder rumbled. Nova tensed every time.
Elara closed the books. "Distraction therapy."
She pulled out the rope again. Nova's eyes lit. They stripped slow, kissing between each layer. Elara bound Nova's wrists to the headboard, ankles to the footboard, spread wide. Vulnerable. Gorgeous. Rain pounded the glass like applause.
Elara took her time. Ice cube from the forgotten coffee, trailed over nipples, down stomach, between legs. Nova writhed, begged. Elara's tongue followed the meltwater. She edged Nova for an hour: close, stop, close, stop. Nova sobbed, tears mixing with rain on the window.
When Elara finally let her come, Nova screamed loud enough that someone down the hall banged on the wall. Elara untied her, massaged wrists, kissed every red mark.
Nova flipped her roughly. "My turn."
She used teeth. Left bruises shaped like continents on Elara's thighs, breasts, neck. Fucked her with the strap-on they had ordered online and hidden in Elara's camera bag. Deep, punishing strokes until Elara saw stars.
They collapsed as thunder faded. Rain softened to a lullaby.
Nova traced the poetry notebook on Elara's nightstand. "Read me something new."
Elara hesitated. The hidden prints were inside. She opened to a safe page.
*You taste like thunderstorms*
*and the moment before the flash*
*I keep the negatives*
*in the dark where they can't hurt us*
Nova's eyes softened. "You wrote that today?"
"Yesterday. After practice."
Nova kissed her wrist. "Print it for me?"
Elara's stomach flipped. "Already did."
She tore the page out, handed it over. Nova tucked it into her sketchbook beside the jaw poem.
They slept. Nova's head on Elara's chest. Elara's arm numb but unwilling to move.
Midnight. Elara woke to Nova crying in her sleep. Mumbling about the track, the injury, the hate notes. Elara held her tighter, whispered nonsense until the dream passed.
Morning. Saturday. No practice. They stayed in bed until noon. Ordered Thai delivery. Ate pad thai naked, sauce dripping, licking each other clean between bites.
Afternoon city adventure planned: underground art walk in the old subway tunnels. But first, photos.
Elara set the camera on timer. They posed together: Nova sitting on the desk, Elara between her legs, arms around her neck. Kiss captured mid-laugh. Another with Nova's hand under Elara's shirt, possessive. A third fully nude, bodies tangled, faces soft with afterglow.
They developed them together in the campus darkroom after hours. Nova's first time in the safelight glow. She watched the images appear like magic, eyes wide.
"Teach me," she said.
Elara handed her the tongs. Guided her hands in the developer. Their fingers overlapped in the chemical bath. Nova's print came out perfect: Elara asleep, mouth open, one breast exposed, fairy lights haloing her hair.
Nova titled it *Mine* on the back.
Back in the room, they hung the new photos beside the others. A gallery of them. Proof.
Evening. Rain returned. They dressed for the tunnels: black hoodies, boots, backpacks with flashlights and snacks. Nova packed mango gummies. Elara packed the Leica.
They slipped out a side door, crossed campus to the service grate everyone knew about but no one admitted. Nova pried it open with the crowbar she kept in her track bag "for emergencies." They descended.
Tunnels smelled of wet stone and spray paint. Graffiti glowed under their headlamps: queer slogans, giant vulvas, love letters ten feet tall. They walked hand in hand, footsteps echoing.
Half a mile in, they found the main chamber. Abandoned platform turned gallery. Local artists had claimed it. Installations everywhere: a bed made of mirrors, a swing hung from chains, photographs projected on the curved ceiling.
They explored slow. Nova sketched in her black book. Elara shot roll after roll.
In a side alcove, they found a mattress someone had dragged down. Clean sheets, fairy lights strung from rebar. A note: *For lovers. Leave no trace.*
They didn't hesitate.
Clothes shed in a pile. Nova pushed Elara onto the mattress, mouth hungry. Echoes amplified every gasp. Elara's cries bounced off concrete like a choir. Nova fucked her with fingers and tongue until she came twice, back arching off the bed.
Then Elara took over. Strap-on from the backpack (they had started carrying it everywhere). Nova on all fours, head down, ass up. Elara entered slow, then hard. The slap of skin echoed like gunshots. Nova begged in Spanish. Elara answered in Korean curses.
They came together, Nova first, then Elara collapsing on her back.
After, they lay tangled, city rumbling faintly overhead. Nova traced the hidden prints envelope in Elara's bag (she had brought it without thinking).
"What's this?"
Elara froze.
Nova sat up, opened it. Prints spilled out. The flash series. Tiny. Perfect. Devastating.
Silence stretched.
Nova's voice was small. "You kept them."
"I couldn't delete you."
Nova picked one up: herself mid-change, breasts bare, eyes wide with shock. She studied it long.
"They're beautiful," she said finally. "And terrifying."
Elara sat up. "I'll burn them. Right now."
Nova stopped her. "No."
She arranged the tiny photos in a heart on the mattress. Took Elara's camera, switched to digital, and photographed the heart. Then she handed the camera to Elara.
"Take one of us. With them."
Elara's hands shook as she framed: Nova naked, legs open, the heart of hidden prints between her thighs. Nova's eyes locked on the lens. Trust. Absolute.
Click.
Nova smiled. "Now delete the digitals. Keep the prints. But they're ours. Not secrets. Proof."
Elara did it. Tears falling on the screen.
They made love again. Slow. Face to face. Missionary with legs wrapped tight. Whispered I love yous between kisses. Came quietly, holding eye contact, tears mixing.
They packed up careful. Left the mattress neater than they found it. Added a new note: *Thank you. We needed this.*
Back above ground, city lights felt different. Brighter. Honest.
In the dorm, they showered together. Washed tunnel dust from each other's skin. Nova held the prints under the spray, watched the emulsion stay perfect.
"Waterproof paper," Elara explained, voice thick.
Nova laughed wet. "Of course you planned that."
They taped the tiny photos inside Nova's sketchbook, a secret page. Then they made love in the shower, standing, water pounding, until their legs gave out.
Collapsed in bed at 2 a.m. Nova traced Elara's face.
"No more hiding," she said.
"Never again."
They slept.
Sunday. Lazy. Coffee run in pajamas. Campus stared. They held hands anyway.
Afternoon. Elara developed the tunnel heart photo. Huge. Twenty by thirty. Hung it above their door like a declaration.
Evening. They cooked together. Nova's abuela's arroz con gandules. Elara chopped onions with tears that weren't from the knife.
They ate on the floor, backs against the bed, legs tangled.
Nova fed Elara a spoonful. "Marry me someday?"
Elara choked on rice. "We're twenty."
"So? Practice proposal."
Elara kissed her, salt and spice. "Yes. A thousand times yes."
Night. They made love with the lights on. No shadows. Every mark visible. Every sound loud. They came screaming each other's names, no pillows to hide in.
After, Nova fell asleep first. Elara watched her, memorized the peace on her face.
She opened the poetry notebook. Wrote fresh.
*The photos I kept*
*were never about your body*
*they were about the moment*
*you looked at me*
*and stayed*
She tore the page out, slipped it under Nova's pillow.
Morning would come. Hate notes might still slide under the door. Coaches might push. Anxiety might claw. But the prints were theirs now. The secrets shared. The darkroom no longer a hiding place, but a developing one.
They were becoming.