I'll Share With You My Heartbeat

eight

He held them up for the ravenhead to see. It was the picture of Charles and the picture of the theater stage where Kieran was supposed to show up. Lennon took an empty shoebox off a shelf and found himself a marker.

It took the ravenhead a second to realize he was starting a box for him. "Lennon..." He drifted off, running out of words.

The chestnut boy looked back at him, lips parting only to close them back again. Kieran understood— he wanted his name to label the box. But Lennon seemed to understand the ravenhead's established boundaries because he wrote GHOSTIE on the side instead.

"I'm sorry," Kieran blurted as the boy slipped the theater photo into the new collection.

"Sorry? For what?"

He ducked his head down and picked at the skin near his fingernails, elaborating quietly. "Ever heard of the saying that once you put your art out there, it's no longer yours?"

Lennon lowered himself down on the floor just to peer up at the ravenhead's face. "No. Explain it to me."

"Our art means something specific to us, but when we put it out there into the world, people have the freedom to interpret it differently." Kieran finally found the courage to meet the chestnut boy's eyes. He was gestured to sit, so he did, sitting cross-legged opposite Lennon. "Suddenly it's not personal anymore. Suddenly it's not yours anymore." He breathed deeply. "That's how I feel about my name."

The confession hung between them for a moment, Kieran resisting the urge to clamp a hand over his mouth, fearing he had shared too much.

"Why?" Lennon had scooted closer, scratching at his bandaged arm in a frenzy.

"Stop that," Kieran whispered, nudging toward the boy's hand, "You'll rip your skin off."

Lennon shifted his body, tucking his hands under his thighs. He looked small like this, back hunched over a little, but it was nothing compared to how small Kieran felt in the moment.

"You're scared to give your name away?" the chestnut boy prodded.

Kieran thought for a second. "Yes."

"Why?"

The ravenhead sighed, fingers carding through his strands of hair. "It's all I have."

And god, those fours words punched a hole through his lungs, reminding him of how thin of a tightrope he was walking upon.

Sympathy flooded Lennon's irises. He reached forward, wanting to offer physical comfort, but his hand rested on the floorboard in front of the ravenhead instead. "Help me understand." A plea.

The more they talked, the more their voices fell below fragile murmurs, like a secret not meant to be shared with the rest of the universe.

Kieran gulped. Immediately, his body sunk an inch under the floor. He saw Lennon straighten up in alarm, but he shook his head. "It's fine. It's normal," he consoled, "The earth wants to swallow me up. I'm supposed to be six feet under right now, you know."

It was an empty joke. Kieran didn't even have a grave of his own.

Lennon smiled nonetheless. An uneasy smile, but enough of a smile to make the ravenhead feel a little lighter.

"Lennon, I have an afterlife to go to," he began, watching the boy's eyes widen, "But to get there, I need a ticket."

"Like a metro ticket? Like on Saturday?"

Kieran couldn't hold back his smile anymore, admiring the raptly childlike innocence that was Lennon. How this boy managed to make such a dark topic so easy on his tongue was beyond him.

"Not exactly," he replied, "I have to bring evidence that I lived. And that's not something I can obtain with a few bucks."

"Why? Why the evidence?" Lennon asked, fingers threaded together.

Kieran shrugged. "I don't question the whys anymore. I just know I need my ticket." His shoulders slumped. "And it doesn't help that all I remember is my name. It's all I have. And it's not enough."

Brows furrowed in concentration, Lennon drummed his fingers on the floor. "How about family?"

"I don't remember my family, Len. And they probably don't remember me, since I've been erased from existence."

Suddenly, the chestnut boy bolted to his feet. "I'll keep taking photos of you. If you show up in a picture, that proves your existence, right?"

Kieran scratched his head. "Yeah but—"

"I know our first shot wasn't successful." Lennon began rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. "But if we keep trying, if we figure out a way to get you in the picture, it'll work!"

As much as the ravenhead appreciated his enthusiasm, he was quick to bring the atmosphere back down to the ground. "Don't give me false hope."

Lennon faced him with the most somber expression Kieran had ever seen on him. "Try."

"But—"

"Try," he repeated, "We've already established that you can't trace back to your past, and if you do, there won't be anything left to prove you lived. So why not create something new? Isn't that your only option right now?"

"I guess," Kieran responded.

"Then let's do it!" He paused, rubbing his nape sheepishly, "Well, as soon as I get my camera back."

But Kieran had more protests. "Len, you've already done so much for me. Too much."

"Nonsense," Lennon fired back at him, closing his laptop and strolling back out into the living room, "I'm a photographer, ghostie, this is quite literally what I do. You just became my subject, that's all."

Kieran moved to close the studio door, gaze lingering on the box marked PRECIOUS before he shut it. He hadn't forgotten the strange way Lennon acted around that box last time. He wondered what was so precious in there.

"Do you like ramen?" Lennon called from the kitchen.

"Uh." Kieran stopped in his tracks when he spotted Socks asleep peacefully on one of the stools. "I don't really, um, eat."

"Oh right," the chestnut boy giggled to himself, cheeks rising as he took out a ramen packet, "More for me then."

"Do you need help?" Kieran took the long way around the kitchen to Lennon, avoiding the cat, "Your arm..."

The ravenhead inched closer, looking over his shoulder to examine the boiling water— so close that Lennon found himself leaning his body weight towards the stove. Like the possibility of a burn was more ideal than having Kieran see the red tint in his cheeks.

"I'm fine." He played it off nice and neat. "Doesn't hurt."

"Alright." The ravenhead cleared his throat and pinched awkwardly at the collar of his turtleneck. "I should go now— don't wanna take up space."

Lennon disguised his disappointment well. "But you're a ghost. You can't take up space."

"Hilarious," Kieran retorted, already heading towards the door. He paused. "I might be back tomorrow."

"I have both work and class tomorrow," the chestnut boy said apologetically, grabbing a fork and poking at the ramen.

Kieran dismissively waved his hand. "That's fine," he said, taking another step forward.

"Hey, one last thing."

The ravenhead turned to face him.

"You don't have to give me your name if you don't want to," Lennon told him earnestly, brushing the fringe off his forehead, "So don't feel pressured about it. It's yours to keep, not mine to take."

Kieran took a deep breath, his body resurfacing like the chestnut boy had lifted a sack off his shoulders. "Thank you."

And he left the apartment feeling light as a feather.

Kieran didn't like hope. It was the climax up to his disappointment. It always clouded his judgement and stirred awful, meaningless spirals.

But this boy.

This boy does wonders to him.