Page 156 of Paint the Town, Dove
I took in a deep breath, and settled into the chair beside him. His eyes were closed, but he could sense I was there, strumming a melody I’d never heard before.
“New song?” I asked quietly.
His sharp cheekbones were rosy, and all I could see was the little boy in him, pulling out blades of grass. I wondered if he eversaw me as the girl who teased him, the girl who wanted nothing more than to be his friend.
[He did].
“It just came to me on the plane,” he said, humming between rifts. “Thought I’d play around. Let the song craft itself.”
My heart hurt looking at him. “It’s amazing… how you do that.”
“Do what?”
“I don’t know, write music in a heartbeat.”
He chuckled, a plume of frozen breath escaping his lips. “The songs exist somewhere, Scar. I just give them a harmony.”
“Huh,” I paused. “I like that.”
“High praise from a woman who doesn’t like much.” He set Harley aside, leaning into the fire. “I’ve gotten used to it.”
“Don’t be petty.”
“I’m being honest.”
“Your gifts are in the bedroom,” I forced a subject change. I couldn’t do this, couldn’t open the fresh wounds again.
His fingers threaded together as he stared off into the distance.
I wanted to bash my head into a wall, yell at myself for not letting the feelings in. They were there,fuck, they were there more than ever. They’ve always been. I couldn’t do it. For some reason, I couldn’t do –
“You know I love you, right?” He said, so softly I almost thought I imagined it.
I wish I’d imagined it.
Iwish with all my heart that he didn’t say it.
We never did. Not once in almost two decades.
Love… it was as common as stability in my life.
But if there were a word for us, maybe it was this. Maybe it was love. Maybe it’s always beenlove.
… And maybe that’s why I was unable to place the stir in my chest all these years, being in the presence of Ryden Spectre.
He turned to me, a ghost of a smile on his face. “Figured you wouldn’t say it back. You don’t need to,” he chuckled, “just thought if I’m baring it all, might as well lay it on the table.”
I turned away, forcing the lions down,down,down. “We don’t say that.”
“Nah,” he shook his head. “Nah, but we feel it. Every day, don’t we? I’ve lied to myself for so long, you know. Lied to myself about the pain, the abandonment issues, all of it. It catches up to you, Scar.
It catches up to you, and it comes out in drugs and alcohol and in songs and in kissing your best friend a million different ways because it’s the only cure for your sanity.”
He turned to me and I felt like I was paralyzed, frozen in ice, begging for the bars to stop rattling. “We’ve…” I swallowed, “We’ve known each other since we were kids, Ryden… You’ve never – you’ve never kissed me before, we’ve never done anything likethatbefore, never written a song about… aboutusbefore.”
“Yes I have,” he said. “All my songs are about us.”
“But not like Paint the Town.”
