I'll Share With You My Heartbeat

thirty one

"It is hard. And that's precisely why I want to do this." The ravenhead tilted his head back and laughed, partly in amusement and partly in incredulity. "Lennon," he said, surging forward until their foreheads were just an inch apart, "I can do anything when I'm with you, do you understand? I'm so scared, Len, but I'm willing to try."

Heart hammering under his ribcage, Lennon channeled all his pride and love into his returning gaze. Kieran may possibly be the one entity in his lifetime to ever leave him wordless.

"In some— sick, twisted way, Len, I'm glad I am where I am today. In this state, in all this chaos. I found you. And you make me feel things I never got to feel even when I was alive. I'm— I'm the luckiest dead person ever."

A short-lived giggle spilled out of Lennon's lips, hand coming up to cover his face.

"I'm serious!" Kieran exclaimed like he was offended.

"Okay, okay!"

"Now give me your laptop," the ravenhead demanded with a half-grin. But he failed to mask the slight waver in his voice.

Lennon knelt on the floor and dug through his backpack for the laptop Kieran had asked him to bring. There were speakers in the room, but neither of them bothered. The ravenhead searched for a song from the internet.

Music began to spill through the tiny speakers and Kieran breathed in deeply as if soaking in the first few piano notes. "My parents used to play this song around the house— well, at least when I was still there," he murmured, "My dad used to call it their love song, and truthfully, I really thought they were so in love."

Lennon bit the inside of his cheek.

Not all love lasts.

Kieran took off his shoes and stood, leaving Lennon on the floor, knees tucked into his chest. The ravenhead raised his arms gracefully, and for a few seconds, Lennon drank in the elegance of his pose and both the determination and the discomfort on his features.

The vibrant, sensuous sound of a violin intertwined with the piano, pulling at the chestnut boy's heartstrings.

Oh. This was actually happening.

Qīn'ài de nǐ duǒ zài nǎlǐ fādāi

Lennon blinked, realizing that the song was in Kieran's mother tongue. And he may not understand the language, but his heart leaped at the intimacy it conveyed— another personal layer of the ravenhead unveiled.

yǒu shé me xīnshì hái wúfǎ shìhuái

The ravenhead hadn't moved, eyes screwed shut and breathing labored. And for a moment, Lennon couldn't push down the concern rising in his throat, getting to his feet. He hated seeing him struggle like this. But his words retreated from his tongue when Kieran took a single step forward.

wǒmen zǒng bǎ rénshēng xiǎng dé tài huài

A hundred technical terms raced through Kieran's mind. Every jump, every twirl he had ever tempted in his past life came raining down on him. Assemblé, Grande Jeté, Plié, Pirouette, Tour en l'air—

He let the first verse float by.

què wúfǎ xíguàn bèi yīlài

And when the first sentence of the chorus came, he burst into a fury of motion. His eyes were shut, as if he was at the height of the rollercoaster drop, the grandest crescendo of an orchestra, when all it was was the gentle tapping of a piano.

Then he stumbled over his own feet.

Eyes flying open, he braced himself for the floor with his teeth gritted. And he may not be able to feel physical pain, but the dent in his pride was enough to have him kneeling at the universe's feet.