Finding the Pure Note

Leaving Only Broken Notes

I felt like I'd truly flowered, and Fletcher was like a different person altogether. He was reserved, softspoken where usually he'd shout and snort at some vulgar joke. When we climbed into bed for the night, I said we didn't have to do anything fancy, but Fletch insisted, and I'll just say I was top that night, Fletcher having a bit too much fun with the douche, and it was fucking everything I hoped it to be and so much more. There is beauty in taking your time, slowing things to the space between heartbeats, so we didn't rush. The night felt eternal, and when I came, still, it didn't end there, couldn't end there. This was our world from here on out, where we no longer giggled like twelve-year-old boys viewing sex like it was some adult fantasy. It was real. This was real. It was bliss.

I lay there for the longest time, watching him, observing Fletcher in his most innocent, most vulnerable state. If the world would come to an end now, I don't think I'd mind, not wrapped up against him. No, in this state, the world could damn well collapse and our reality would carry through to the bitter end.

Fletcher's breathing is smooth, like the rolling tide, and the way his hair rests limply over his eyes just makes him look ten times more attractive than he already is. I avoid the temptation of his lips just yet, and instead gently move a lock of his hair away from his eyes. His golden-oak sheen was always kind of special, its autumnal colour more stunning than the natural way it always seemed to look perfect no matter what happened to it.

I can't keep still, hold back and instead dare the kiss, my lips brushing his ever so gently. I don't mean to wake him, just let him know on some level that I am here, keeping watch over him, even if he isn't aware.

A grin explodes onto my face and I turn back to face the wall, knowing that to look any longer would be to venture too close to the sun. A few seconds of giddy silence pass, and then his arm coils around my waist, resuming its earlier position.

"Good morning, beautiful," he whispers, and I feel my smile threatening to engulf my face.

I don't bother with a response that isn't my lips joining his.

*****

Mum seems to be getting used to Fletcher's presence in the house because when he slides into the kitchen, pulls out the milk and drinks from the carton, she just shakes her head and looks back down at her phone, sipping at her coffee.

I flash him a 'really, dude?' look, but he just shrugs and takes one more gulp of the milk, deciding to finish off the remainder of the carton, gasping with a milk moustache. He wipes it clear and fixes me with a cheesy grin.

"Guess I'm not having any cereal," I murmur, drawing a wider grin on his lips, as if that were possible. He moves to kiss me and I feel a stab of panic. That feeling is lessened, for that instant where our lips meet, but once they pull apart, I glance at mum—inwardly sighing when I see she's too focused on her small screen. I feel the milk on my lips and I quickly wipe it away. Fletcher winks.

Fletcher remarks that he's gonna go brush his teeth. I'm about to yell after him he didn't bring his toothbrush when I catch myself: No duh! He's always had a toothbrush here. Might be a bit mank. He'll make it work.

Mum places her cup down on the table and clears her throat. I turn to face her and she has this intensity in her eyes that roots me to the spot. Oh no... Did she see...?

"Clay, we need to talk."

Oh shit. This is really it. She's gonna tell me that I'm just confused, that this is wrong and that Fletcher and I shouldn't be together. In her perfect future for me, a wife and two kids. I was throwing that all away, and no one ruins mum's plan. Caitlyn fled, but she returned at her own peril, mum's teeth like dragon's fangs waiting to bite down on her.