this is the deep and dying breath, of this love that we've been working on
ps: dear all, i'm better.
Slow Dancing in a Burning Room
Greta Salpeter (The Hush Sound), Jon Walker (PATD) (because I am on CRACK)
2497~ words
Inspired by the we_are_cities Nov7 prompt; song “Slow Dancing in a Burning Room” John Mayer
(I have a shamefully small collection of Jon pictures, which I must rectify immediately)
Slow Dancing in a Burning Room
Lynn
Greta squealed as Jon picked her off the ground, purring like a racecar engine as he carried her through the crowd.
“Do you think…” Bob whispered to William and Darren as they watched Jon put her down on the ground, before tackling her (carefully of course), onto the grass.
“No, but she’s got a just a little crush,” Darren muttered. Jon had started tickling, and Greta was shrieking like how she sounded when she did her vocal exercises. “I say he’d be dumb not to know.”
“So… I wouldn’t bet on that,” William closed an eye and pointed at the couple, and Darren started to laugh.
* * *
“I’m not going,” Greta said.
“Why not? Proms are fun,” Jon dug behind the cupboard and surfaced with a pack of pop tarts. He tore it open (Jon was never patient when hungry) and held the other one out to Greta. She took it gingerly with two fingers.
“Oh, and you had time for yours?” Greta sighed.
“I went for mine,” Jon grinned victoriously, before demolishing half of his pop tart with one bite.
She looked away from him and fumbled, “Well, I don’t have a date.”
“Are you serious?” Jon asked, incredulous. “You’re fucking with me right? You. Without a date?”
Greta flushed a deep red and contemplated throwing the pop tart at him. It would be a waste, so she took a bite out of it and puffed her cheeks.
Jon (who had finished his pop tart) waved his arms wildly in front of Greta. “Aww, don’t do that,” he shook his head. “But why… I mean, I’d go with you. If we went to high school together.”
Greta’s heart skipped a beat. She hadn’t wanted to go to the prom because… well, to say it would be awkward was an understatement. She’d missed most of the year being on the road with the band and found out if you weren’t there, people forget really easily.
“Really?” she whispered. She put her pop tart aside and turned to Jon. “Then go with me.”
* * *
When he had time off, Jon dabbled in photography. He wasn’t the new sort of digital photographer; he preferred film and had a habit of using hotel bathrooms as dark rooms. He kept his favourite photographs in a box, tucked underneath the covers in his bunk.
He brought it out once, when they were talking about costumes for the new tour. Ryan dug up a picture of Jon in a tux at what looked like a high school dance, then pouted and said, “See, don’t fuck with me and say you’ve never worn a tux in your life.” Brendon laughed for the whole time Jon attempted to kill Ryan.
Spencer was the only one who saw that the person in the picture next to Jon, holding his arm was Greta.
* * *
Katie brushed carefully over Greta’s eyelid. She started to giggle.
“Greta…” Katie warned.
“Sorry! It’s ticklish! Sorry,” Greta said. It was probably only ten minutes, but Greta, having to sit still on a rather uncomfortable stool, felt it was longer than that.
Gerta felt Katie’s hand stopped, and heard the sound of brushes placed back into a box before Katie said, “Okay. Open you eyes.”
Greta opened her eyes, and when her eyes focused, gasped.
“You see, that wasn’t so bad,” Katie said, leaning over Greta’s shoulder. She had lengthened Greta’s lashes, coloured her eyelids in powder blue and highlighted them with careful, white lines at the edges. “I think you’ve got magnificent eyes.”
“Magnificent eyes,” Greta echoed. She had never thought herself to be pretty, and compared to some of the girls she’d seen on the road, she wasn’t exactly one with a great figure either.
“Hey, have you guys seen Roger, because I needed to…”
Katie turned around, shaking her head. “I haven’t seen Rog… but have you seen Greta today?”
Jon paused. “Hmm?”
Greta swiveled the chair around, and smiled. “Hey.”
Jon took a visible step back, gripping the camera in his hand. “Oh. Hey. I… wow, what did you do to…” he lifted a hand and drew circles in the air around his right eye.
“Katie did it,” Greta said, getting up and doing a turn. She stopped in front of Jon, smiling nervously as she felt her earlier confidence fade away. “I… do I look weird?” she asked.
“No, no,” Jon shook his head. “But it’s just… you’re… Even without…” he trailed off, and frowned, thinking for the right words to say. “You’re always pretty,” he finally said.
She paused. Jon’s a nice guy; Greta knew that. He was the kind of guy who would remember your brother’s name even if he’d only met him once, and when you ordered take out remembered you liked Thai more than Chinese.
She wondered why Jon was so nice to her all the time, but she pushed that thought away.
Greta wanted to believe him now, so she did. And she never really stopped.
* * *
Summer nights in the South could get stifling, but up on the roof of Jon’s borrowed car, it wasn’t. It wasn’t cold either, because of the body curled up next to his. He leaned his chin on her head, and nudged her awake.
“Hey,” Jon whispered.
Greta opened her eyes slowly. “Hmm?” she yawned, tightening her grip on his tee shirt, and letting it go slowly as she exhaled.
“You’re missing a great view.”
Greta looked upwards, and there it was. High on this lookout point, she could see the moon in a cloudless sky, and the stars running on for miles and miles. “Wow,” she whispered. “When did this happen?”
“When you were asleep,” Jon said, and Greta giggled, slapping his arm lightly before settling back comfortably in the crook of his arm. “What’re you thinking about now?”
“Lance Bass,” Greta said.
Jon made a face. “Who?”
“Lance Bass. You know. The gay boyband member. He’s an astronaut,” Greta said, and Jon felt her body relax next to him, falling back asleep. “Did you know,” she said softly, trailing off. “That everyone can see the moon… wherever they… are…”
* * *
“So you and Greta?” Spencer said. “Woah, I have to get my head around that. You. And Greta.”
“What? Shut up,” Jon laughed as his character unleashed its special move on Spencer’s character. He’d always thought the only manly way to fight was definitely through a round of Tekken. “There’s nothing to get your head around, buddy.”
Spencer looked genuinely surprised. He had seen them; running out to the nearest Taco Bell or sitting close on the bus, whispering secrets to each other. Brendon was always talking and Ryan was always thinking… so Spencer reckoned he must be the only one who saw. “Really?”
“We’re just…” Jon turned to Spencer; with a sudden urge to explain what he felt was a serious misconception on Spencer’s part. “You know. Friends.”
“Friends? Like, erm, really awesome friends? An awesome friend you went to her junior Prom with?” Spencer laughed as he cut a bar from Jon’s character’s life.
Jon swore, before turning to look at Spencer as though he’d grown three heads. “How’d you know that?” he asked, and turned back to the screen to save his character. “She’s like my sister. Okay?”
Spencer whooped as Jon’s character fell and the speakers called out “KO!”
“I never took you for the delusional type, Jon,” he said.
* * *
Sometime in the middle of the tour, they played Chicago.
Greta’s mom had come over in the afternoon, Darren had some family over too, and the others brought friends; so it was a day laughs and stories, and Greta couldn't really remember a day she'd felt so happy for a while.
She was walking out of from the back door of the venue when she saw him. He was playing touch football with his friends. She’d taken a step forward, about to call him when she saw Jon pick one of his girl friends off the ground, swinging her around as she went, “Stop, Jon… stop!”
She clenched her fist, and tried not to think about how familiar that was.
* * *
“Hey Greta!”
“Hey!” Greta called out. She stopped for a while to talk to the dancers, before continuing towards Panic’s bus. She had a smile on her face and a magazine in her hand. She pounded on the door of the bus, and when nobody answered, pushed it open tentatively and stepped inside. “Hello?” she called out.
She heard a shuffle from the bunks, and walked inwards. The bus was still a mess, like any other time, and she figured they must have gone out for an interview or something. The sound came from the bunks again, and when Greta stepped forward, she realized it was the sound of someone breathing heavily. Really, heavily.
Then a grunt. A moan. And a voice.
“Yeah, right there baby. Ooooh.”
Greta placed a hand over her mouth to prevent herself from making a sound.
Grunt, whimper, exhale. “God,” the voice muttered.
* * *
Greta flung the curtains open. Jon’s eyes opened in surprise, and swore when he realized who she was. His pants were pushed down to his knees, one hand to his groin and the other holding onto his sidekick. He’d amped the volume of his phone up, and Greta could hear a girl’s voice, “Jon… Jon?”
If this wasn’t the most awkward moment of Greta’s life, she didn’t know what was.
She threw the magazine at him and ran.
* * *
Jon was glued to his sidekick. It’s been three days, and the only time he didn’t have it with him was during the show, and even then he’d be running off the stage after to grab the phone from Zach. That really wasn’t unusual with the boys, but Ryan was complaining about how distracted Jon was and Darren had called Pete to call Patrick to call Spencer not to call Greta anymore; Spencer put two and five together, and figured he’d figured it out.
On the third day, when the two of them were alone at the back of the bus and Jon had dialed the same number for the hundredth time, Spencer asked. “What’s up?”
“Nothing,” Jon said, twitching in his seat as he waited for his call to go through.
“Nothing’s nothing,” Spencer said. “Nothing’s always something,” he said in a low dramatic voice, wiggling his fingers for emphasis.
“Don’t go deep on me Spence,” Jon warned, before jumping up, realizing his call had gone through. “Shit, no, Greta, I mean… listen, call me back okay?” he sounded almost desperate. “I really didn’t, it’s not what you think it is. So could you just…” he stopped, then tossed his sidekick aside and let out a yell. He flopped back onto the couch.
Spencer looked up from his laptop.
“Nothing!” Jon got up from his seat and stomped to the front of the bus.
“Nothing’s always something!” Spencer called out. Then added, “I hope you know I think it’s your fault!”
* * *
Greta stared out of the window, a pen in one hand and the other pressed on the journal on her lap. The journey from Boise to Portland was like walking into a dream, too good to be missed. She could see the hills just off the side of the road, and an early burst of rain in the morning made a rainbow that stretched from the ground all the way to the edge of the sky.
She quietly watched as the trees and hills roll by, as day turned into night.
Everyone else was asleep. (Except for Bob, driving) The phone pressed against her thigh began to vibrate, and without looking at it Greta knew who the caller was. She switched the phone off and stuffed it viciously under the bundle of clothes between her and Chris.
She told herself that she wasn’t angry at him. In fact, she was the one who should not have done what she did; throw the curtains open and run away. Maybe she should have blushed and waited for him to explain. They would have laughed over it, and she would have teased him about it for the rest of the tour.
Whatever it was, she felt that this wasn’t his fault. She knew she’d done most of it to herself. He was just… nice. And she had fallen for that, hook, line, and sinker.
She turned back out of the window.
* * *
Don’t you think you ought to know by now?
Don’t you think you should have learnt somehow?
* * *
Jon bribed one of the local crew kids with his XBox for a ride out of the city right after the show. They drove most of the night without stopping, and sometime around four thirty in the morning, caught up with the opening band at a motel half an hour to Portland.
He followed the directions given him by Adam (who he woke up from sleep and was very, very unhappy about it), jumped the short gate separating the hotel pool from outside, and walked over to a deck chair at the far end of the pool area. There was a sleeping figure on it, wrapped tightly in the motel’s blanket.
He walked up, sat down on the chair next to hers, and smiled. Then he stretched himself out on the chair, placed his arm under his head as a pillow.
He turned up to the sky, a mess of blue, purple and reds; with the moon up in the East. “Everyone can see the moon,” he whispered the words as he remembered them; spoken on a night that felt so long ago.
He turned on his side again, and memorized her face in the morning light.
Greta shivered as she woke up; falling asleep on a deck chair next to a pool was definitely not one of her better ideas. She rubbed the sleep out of her eyes and sat up to see a familiar figure sitting at the edge of the pool. He kicked his feet once, twice, each time sending a tiny splash of water up to the surface, glinting in the morning light.
She walked over to him, barefoot, carrying the blanket in her arms. He didn’t look surprised as she sat down next to him, wrapping half of the blanket awkwardly around his shoulder, before wrapping the other half around her own, keeping a careful distance between the two of them.
“What’re you doing here?” she asked.
“I followed you,” he confessed, twiddling his thumbs.
“So I figured,” Greta nodded.
There was a long silence between the two of them, broken only by the clinking of glasses and dishes in the kitchen. The motel served a mean continental breakfast, according to the receptionist when they checked in yesterday night.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
Greta shook her head, and closed the distance between them. She’d missed him, no matter what. “I’m sorry,” she echoed.
Their words unfurled and settled; nothing begun, nothing ended.
My dear, we’re slow dancing in a burning room
-fin
Notes: I wrote this. Twice. Because I lost half of the first draft. It might be good that I lost it… the first draft involved vague Chinese mythology and a whole lot of Brendon.
Slow Dancing in a Burning Room
Greta Salpeter (The Hush Sound), Jon Walker (PATD) (because I am on CRACK)
2497~ words
Inspired by the we_are_cities Nov7 prompt; song “Slow Dancing in a Burning Room” John Mayer
(I have a shamefully small collection of Jon pictures, which I must rectify immediately)
Slow Dancing in a Burning Room
Lynn
Greta squealed as Jon picked her off the ground, purring like a racecar engine as he carried her through the crowd.
“Do you think…” Bob whispered to William and Darren as they watched Jon put her down on the ground, before tackling her (carefully of course), onto the grass.
“No, but she’s got a just a little crush,” Darren muttered. Jon had started tickling, and Greta was shrieking like how she sounded when she did her vocal exercises. “I say he’d be dumb not to know.”
“So… I wouldn’t bet on that,” William closed an eye and pointed at the couple, and Darren started to laugh.
* * *
“I’m not going,” Greta said.
“Why not? Proms are fun,” Jon dug behind the cupboard and surfaced with a pack of pop tarts. He tore it open (Jon was never patient when hungry) and held the other one out to Greta. She took it gingerly with two fingers.
“Oh, and you had time for yours?” Greta sighed.
“I went for mine,” Jon grinned victoriously, before demolishing half of his pop tart with one bite.
She looked away from him and fumbled, “Well, I don’t have a date.”
“Are you serious?” Jon asked, incredulous. “You’re fucking with me right? You. Without a date?”
Greta flushed a deep red and contemplated throwing the pop tart at him. It would be a waste, so she took a bite out of it and puffed her cheeks.
Jon (who had finished his pop tart) waved his arms wildly in front of Greta. “Aww, don’t do that,” he shook his head. “But why… I mean, I’d go with you. If we went to high school together.”
Greta’s heart skipped a beat. She hadn’t wanted to go to the prom because… well, to say it would be awkward was an understatement. She’d missed most of the year being on the road with the band and found out if you weren’t there, people forget really easily.
“Really?” she whispered. She put her pop tart aside and turned to Jon. “Then go with me.”
* * *
When he had time off, Jon dabbled in photography. He wasn’t the new sort of digital photographer; he preferred film and had a habit of using hotel bathrooms as dark rooms. He kept his favourite photographs in a box, tucked underneath the covers in his bunk.
He brought it out once, when they were talking about costumes for the new tour. Ryan dug up a picture of Jon in a tux at what looked like a high school dance, then pouted and said, “See, don’t fuck with me and say you’ve never worn a tux in your life.” Brendon laughed for the whole time Jon attempted to kill Ryan.
Spencer was the only one who saw that the person in the picture next to Jon, holding his arm was Greta.
* * *
Katie brushed carefully over Greta’s eyelid. She started to giggle.
“Greta…” Katie warned.
“Sorry! It’s ticklish! Sorry,” Greta said. It was probably only ten minutes, but Greta, having to sit still on a rather uncomfortable stool, felt it was longer than that.
Gerta felt Katie’s hand stopped, and heard the sound of brushes placed back into a box before Katie said, “Okay. Open you eyes.”
Greta opened her eyes, and when her eyes focused, gasped.
“You see, that wasn’t so bad,” Katie said, leaning over Greta’s shoulder. She had lengthened Greta’s lashes, coloured her eyelids in powder blue and highlighted them with careful, white lines at the edges. “I think you’ve got magnificent eyes.”
“Magnificent eyes,” Greta echoed. She had never thought herself to be pretty, and compared to some of the girls she’d seen on the road, she wasn’t exactly one with a great figure either.
“Hey, have you guys seen Roger, because I needed to…”
Katie turned around, shaking her head. “I haven’t seen Rog… but have you seen Greta today?”
Jon paused. “Hmm?”
Greta swiveled the chair around, and smiled. “Hey.”
Jon took a visible step back, gripping the camera in his hand. “Oh. Hey. I… wow, what did you do to…” he lifted a hand and drew circles in the air around his right eye.
“Katie did it,” Greta said, getting up and doing a turn. She stopped in front of Jon, smiling nervously as she felt her earlier confidence fade away. “I… do I look weird?” she asked.
“No, no,” Jon shook his head. “But it’s just… you’re… Even without…” he trailed off, and frowned, thinking for the right words to say. “You’re always pretty,” he finally said.
She paused. Jon’s a nice guy; Greta knew that. He was the kind of guy who would remember your brother’s name even if he’d only met him once, and when you ordered take out remembered you liked Thai more than Chinese.
She wondered why Jon was so nice to her all the time, but she pushed that thought away.
Greta wanted to believe him now, so she did. And she never really stopped.
* * *
Summer nights in the South could get stifling, but up on the roof of Jon’s borrowed car, it wasn’t. It wasn’t cold either, because of the body curled up next to his. He leaned his chin on her head, and nudged her awake.
“Hey,” Jon whispered.
Greta opened her eyes slowly. “Hmm?” she yawned, tightening her grip on his tee shirt, and letting it go slowly as she exhaled.
“You’re missing a great view.”
Greta looked upwards, and there it was. High on this lookout point, she could see the moon in a cloudless sky, and the stars running on for miles and miles. “Wow,” she whispered. “When did this happen?”
“When you were asleep,” Jon said, and Greta giggled, slapping his arm lightly before settling back comfortably in the crook of his arm. “What’re you thinking about now?”
“Lance Bass,” Greta said.
Jon made a face. “Who?”
“Lance Bass. You know. The gay boyband member. He’s an astronaut,” Greta said, and Jon felt her body relax next to him, falling back asleep. “Did you know,” she said softly, trailing off. “That everyone can see the moon… wherever they… are…”
* * *
“So you and Greta?” Spencer said. “Woah, I have to get my head around that. You. And Greta.”
“What? Shut up,” Jon laughed as his character unleashed its special move on Spencer’s character. He’d always thought the only manly way to fight was definitely through a round of Tekken. “There’s nothing to get your head around, buddy.”
Spencer looked genuinely surprised. He had seen them; running out to the nearest Taco Bell or sitting close on the bus, whispering secrets to each other. Brendon was always talking and Ryan was always thinking… so Spencer reckoned he must be the only one who saw. “Really?”
“We’re just…” Jon turned to Spencer; with a sudden urge to explain what he felt was a serious misconception on Spencer’s part. “You know. Friends.”
“Friends? Like, erm, really awesome friends? An awesome friend you went to her junior Prom with?” Spencer laughed as he cut a bar from Jon’s character’s life.
Jon swore, before turning to look at Spencer as though he’d grown three heads. “How’d you know that?” he asked, and turned back to the screen to save his character. “She’s like my sister. Okay?”
Spencer whooped as Jon’s character fell and the speakers called out “KO!”
“I never took you for the delusional type, Jon,” he said.
* * *
Sometime in the middle of the tour, they played Chicago.
Greta’s mom had come over in the afternoon, Darren had some family over too, and the others brought friends; so it was a day laughs and stories, and Greta couldn't really remember a day she'd felt so happy for a while.
She was walking out of from the back door of the venue when she saw him. He was playing touch football with his friends. She’d taken a step forward, about to call him when she saw Jon pick one of his girl friends off the ground, swinging her around as she went, “Stop, Jon… stop!”
She clenched her fist, and tried not to think about how familiar that was.
* * *
“Hey Greta!”
“Hey!” Greta called out. She stopped for a while to talk to the dancers, before continuing towards Panic’s bus. She had a smile on her face and a magazine in her hand. She pounded on the door of the bus, and when nobody answered, pushed it open tentatively and stepped inside. “Hello?” she called out.
She heard a shuffle from the bunks, and walked inwards. The bus was still a mess, like any other time, and she figured they must have gone out for an interview or something. The sound came from the bunks again, and when Greta stepped forward, she realized it was the sound of someone breathing heavily. Really, heavily.
Then a grunt. A moan. And a voice.
“Yeah, right there baby. Ooooh.”
Greta placed a hand over her mouth to prevent herself from making a sound.
Grunt, whimper, exhale. “God,” the voice muttered.
* * *
Greta flung the curtains open. Jon’s eyes opened in surprise, and swore when he realized who she was. His pants were pushed down to his knees, one hand to his groin and the other holding onto his sidekick. He’d amped the volume of his phone up, and Greta could hear a girl’s voice, “Jon… Jon?”
If this wasn’t the most awkward moment of Greta’s life, she didn’t know what was.
She threw the magazine at him and ran.
* * *
Jon was glued to his sidekick. It’s been three days, and the only time he didn’t have it with him was during the show, and even then he’d be running off the stage after to grab the phone from Zach. That really wasn’t unusual with the boys, but Ryan was complaining about how distracted Jon was and Darren had called Pete to call Patrick to call Spencer not to call Greta anymore; Spencer put two and five together, and figured he’d figured it out.
On the third day, when the two of them were alone at the back of the bus and Jon had dialed the same number for the hundredth time, Spencer asked. “What’s up?”
“Nothing,” Jon said, twitching in his seat as he waited for his call to go through.
“Nothing’s nothing,” Spencer said. “Nothing’s always something,” he said in a low dramatic voice, wiggling his fingers for emphasis.
“Don’t go deep on me Spence,” Jon warned, before jumping up, realizing his call had gone through. “Shit, no, Greta, I mean… listen, call me back okay?” he sounded almost desperate. “I really didn’t, it’s not what you think it is. So could you just…” he stopped, then tossed his sidekick aside and let out a yell. He flopped back onto the couch.
Spencer looked up from his laptop.
“Nothing!” Jon got up from his seat and stomped to the front of the bus.
“Nothing’s always something!” Spencer called out. Then added, “I hope you know I think it’s your fault!”
* * *
Greta stared out of the window, a pen in one hand and the other pressed on the journal on her lap. The journey from Boise to Portland was like walking into a dream, too good to be missed. She could see the hills just off the side of the road, and an early burst of rain in the morning made a rainbow that stretched from the ground all the way to the edge of the sky.
She quietly watched as the trees and hills roll by, as day turned into night.
Everyone else was asleep. (Except for Bob, driving) The phone pressed against her thigh began to vibrate, and without looking at it Greta knew who the caller was. She switched the phone off and stuffed it viciously under the bundle of clothes between her and Chris.
She told herself that she wasn’t angry at him. In fact, she was the one who should not have done what she did; throw the curtains open and run away. Maybe she should have blushed and waited for him to explain. They would have laughed over it, and she would have teased him about it for the rest of the tour.
Whatever it was, she felt that this wasn’t his fault. She knew she’d done most of it to herself. He was just… nice. And she had fallen for that, hook, line, and sinker.
She turned back out of the window.
* * *
Don’t you think you ought to know by now?
Don’t you think you should have learnt somehow?
* * *
Jon bribed one of the local crew kids with his XBox for a ride out of the city right after the show. They drove most of the night without stopping, and sometime around four thirty in the morning, caught up with the opening band at a motel half an hour to Portland.
He followed the directions given him by Adam (who he woke up from sleep and was very, very unhappy about it), jumped the short gate separating the hotel pool from outside, and walked over to a deck chair at the far end of the pool area. There was a sleeping figure on it, wrapped tightly in the motel’s blanket.
He walked up, sat down on the chair next to hers, and smiled. Then he stretched himself out on the chair, placed his arm under his head as a pillow.
He turned up to the sky, a mess of blue, purple and reds; with the moon up in the East. “Everyone can see the moon,” he whispered the words as he remembered them; spoken on a night that felt so long ago.
He turned on his side again, and memorized her face in the morning light.
Greta shivered as she woke up; falling asleep on a deck chair next to a pool was definitely not one of her better ideas. She rubbed the sleep out of her eyes and sat up to see a familiar figure sitting at the edge of the pool. He kicked his feet once, twice, each time sending a tiny splash of water up to the surface, glinting in the morning light.
She walked over to him, barefoot, carrying the blanket in her arms. He didn’t look surprised as she sat down next to him, wrapping half of the blanket awkwardly around his shoulder, before wrapping the other half around her own, keeping a careful distance between the two of them.
“What’re you doing here?” she asked.
“I followed you,” he confessed, twiddling his thumbs.
“So I figured,” Greta nodded.
There was a long silence between the two of them, broken only by the clinking of glasses and dishes in the kitchen. The motel served a mean continental breakfast, according to the receptionist when they checked in yesterday night.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
Greta shook her head, and closed the distance between them. She’d missed him, no matter what. “I’m sorry,” she echoed.
Their words unfurled and settled; nothing begun, nothing ended.
My dear, we’re slow dancing in a burning room
-fin
Notes: I wrote this. Twice. Because I lost half of the first draft. It might be good that I lost it… the first draft involved vague Chinese mythology and a whole lot of Brendon.