The Classix

(OLD) Chapter 7

I imagine DEFED must discuss the Famoux an awful lot.

Luckily, no Volxsturm appears in the Analytix this morning. No chart of names, no gauging who's in first place with public appeal. DEFED might be back, but they don't seem to be back in the business of killing us off.

Yet.

As I make my way down the stairs and into the kitchen, I notice music playing. I haven't heard this before, but somehow I know exactly what it is.

"Can you just feel the love in the air?" asks Chapter, grinning wide at me. He's leaned back casual, his hands on either side of the countertop. Just the sight of him here, alone in the kitchen, brightens the whole morning. "Can you hear the love, love?"

Out of some hidden speakers around the room, Cartney's newest song, "For Emeray" is blaring––an exclusive new track that was released the very second my seventeenth birthday began. From what I've heard in the Analytix, this song is already monumentally popular for having been released in the dead of night. It provides more buzz than can be observed on the surface––not only is it a painfully blatant song about me, the title's eponymous Emeray, but it's the first song Cartney Kirk has released since his last single . . . a single that he happened to share with a one Kaytee McKarrington.

The oozing, lovey-dovey violins are far too much for me to handle at this hour of the morning. I can feel a headache coming on, so I put my fingers to my temples, pressing down deep. Moving slowly toward the carafe of coffee beside him, I utter the first words of my seventeenth year: "Could you please turn that music down?"

Chapter laughs, pulling a remote from his pocket. He dangles it front of me. "You know, turning down the song Cartney wrote especially for you would imply that you're turning Cartney himself down."

Moving quick, I snatch the remote from his fingers. In a press of a button, the song is completely cut off, right in the middle of a tantalizing melody. His eyebrows raise, smile softening into a smug expression.

"That song is the last thing I want to be listening to this morning," I tell him. "Looks like I'm going to have to turn Cartney down on this one."

"Are there other situations in which you wouldn't turn him down?"

I give him a look. "Only situations such as, perhaps, a dating contract."

"Ah, that's right." He leans toward me, touching his nose against mine. "For the record, I think it's a fantastically atrocious song. 'For Emeray' . . . you've really got to give Cartney a hand for being subtle."

"Stop lying."

"No, really! It took me a couple listens this morning to even start guessing that he wrote it about you."

I shake my head at his sarcasm, our noses bumping together in the process. It's not too often that there's nobody else is in the room when the two of us are, so I don't hesitate to follow Chapter's lead when he tilts his head to give me a kiss.

For the first time this morning, my insides seem to finally settle––all notions of potential engagements and DEFED threats dissolve, if only for a moment. All I can focus on in this moment is how natural, how comfortable it is to be with him; how I can distinctly taste his last cup of coffee on his tongue. For a second, it's all that matters.

Like all good things, short-lived.

"I believe what I'm looking at right now is one of those special things I'm supposed to call Norax about," says a deep voice.

It's too deep to belong to Cartney, but we separate with all the same panic. Blinking fast, I find Angad standing by the foot of the stairs. He's not even looking at us––he's busy fiddling with one of the many colorful pins on his jacket.