Chapter 7 - Lithium (Nirvana ; 1991)

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"A-Are you always this hyper?" I asked Brendon in between his sentences. He was telling me a story about how, when he was younger, his older brothers and sisters would toss him back and forth between their beds to see who could not drop him.

He blushed lightly and nodded his head, his hair hanging in his face. "Yeah," he said with a small, nervous laugh. "I get really animated and talkative around people I'm comfortable with."

I nodded and smiled at him, motioning for him to continue. He looked at me with soft eyes and sat cross-legged in front of me. "Tell me something from your childhood," he said in a voice so soft that it made my heart dance inside of my chest.

I looked up in thought, copying his sitting position so that I could completely face him. "W-Well," I started, wringing my hands together nervously, "what do you want t-to know?"

He opened his mouth like he was going to speak, before abruptly closing his mouth and looking up to the ceiling in thought. After a few moments, he looked back at me with a small shrug. "Tell me about your art," he said. "I wanna know about your inspirations and such. Tell me what inspires Ryan Ross."

I blushed slightly, nodding my head as I placed my hands in my lap. "I g-guess a lot of things inspire me," I started in a soft voice, Brendon looking at me with complete and utter interest. "I think the first thing that ever inspired me, as cliche as it sounds, was music. I was about ten years old and Yellow Submarine came on. Mother and I were in the kitchen, preparing Sunday brunch and she turned the dial of the radio up so loud."

I paused momentarily, letting Brendon create the mental image of young me in a kitchen with an older woman who I resembled almost identically. I took a soft breath before speaking again. "Father was still at the church, talking over stock exchanges with some of his colleagues. He was a stockbroker, so you can image how well off my family was." I said this with a large amount of disinterest, considering I had never cared for money. "Anyway," I continued, brushing the small details away, "Mother began singing along to the words, and I was stirring the mixing of stuffing, I just watched her. She was an eccentric woman, completely defiant when it came to how women should 'behave.'"

"I couldn't help but smile at her and watch how she moved to the music, singing it loudly at the top of her lungs. She looked beautiful," I said, admiration filling my voice. "That was the first time I had ever wanted to draw a person. I stopped helping mother in the kitchen and ran to my bedroom, gathering a small pencil and my notebook. I ran back into the dining room and sat at the table and just began sketching without a moments hesitation. I already told you that I thought Mother looked beautiful, but I felt like she needed something .. more. She needed and artist's touch applied to her."

Brendon smiled at me admiringly and I blushed as I continued. "When I finished the sketch, about an hour later, Father had made it home without me realizing and had been watching over my shoulder the entire time. When I finished, he called my mother into the dining room to look at it. She cried, Brendon," I said with a small laugh. "She cried harder than you did. My father took the picture to a printing company and they had my sketch framed, and it was hung in my father's office. As far as I know, it's still there. Our childhoods were different in many ways, Brendon," I said softly, taking his hands in mine, "but that doesn't mean they weren't equally as beautiful."

Brendon smiled so wide at me, his beautiful, white rows of teeth showing at me as his eyes glimmered. He shook his head as he let out a small laugh and I smiled back, but furrowed my brows in confusion. "You didn't stutter," he said softly. "You explained that entire story to me, and you didn't stutter."

I paused softly, taking in his words and I let out an almost inaudible gasp. I didn't stutter. I looked at Brendon, my eyes gleaming with excitement and I wrapped my arms around his neck as he wrapped his around my torso. We both let out breathy laughs as we held each other, and I leaned back, looking into his eyes.

"I didn't stutter," I whispered. He nodded and let out another breathy laugh as his eyes danced back and forth between mine. We looked into each other's eyes for a few moments before I broke the small amount of silence. "Brendon?"

He hummed in response, his smile still present on his lips. I kept one arm around his neck, letting my hand rest between his shoulder blades as my left hand came to lightly cup his face. His cheeks flushed red as his eyes bore into mine and I swear, I've seen so many beautiful things in my life, but nothing could compare to the beauty that was just inches away from me.

I leaned down to him slowly, licking my seemingly dry lips nervously as my eyes landed on his pink lips. Soon, our lips were just barely touching one another's and we both let out nervous sighs. I wanted to relish in this moment, but I wanted to feel him so bad I was having pains in my chest.

So that's what I did.

I pressed my lips completely against his, and I was almost taken aback by how perfectly our lips molded together; like they were meant for each other. Brendon wasted no time in wrapping his arms around my back and pulling my body closer to his. I gently caressed his cheek as I leaned him back to where he was completely lying against the leather sofa. My legs slotted between his and our lips began moving together slowly and rhythmically, our heartbeats slamming against our chests in time with one another.

After a few moments, I pulled away from him and we both breathed in air like it was the first breath we had ever taken. Our lips were red and swollen and our cheeks were flushed as we looked into each other's glistening eyes. He looked absolutely gorgeous, and I couldn't help but want to reattach our lips.

So that's what I did.

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