The Classix

(2ND DRAFT) chapter TWO

His fingers are not calloused the same way Cartney's are from years of strumming, plucking, and pressing down on the frets of an acoustic guitar. Chapter's fingers are strong and warm; without too much friction making his fingertips too thick to feel I'm there. He strokes the side of my face anyway, perhaps to make sure nothing is a mirage. I do just the same with the back of his neck.

The breaths I'm taking in come right along his exhales. The air can't quite seem to find my lungs too well––that is, well enough to help me breathe easy. My mind is a widening gyre without a center-point to hold onto. How long has it been since I've gotten to be this close to Chapter? How long will this moment last?

Our eyes dart to every corner and crack and crevasse on each other's faces. The air between us is full of apprehension and hankering. It all comes as one swift nanosecond to watchers, but an eternity to me.

He moves toward me just as I move toward him.

Our lips touch.

We are a match, and we've struck, and we're afire, afire.

Chapter pulls me closer to him, the front of his suit pressing against the front of my coat. I can almost feel his heart, quick and pounding, beneath all the layers separating the two of us. I bet he can feel mine too. My hands go up to his hair, but even so, I'm not sure. Every nerve ending in my body has gone completely haywire.

A dozen people around us, but the sidewalk could very well be empty. Snow falling in late Colburn winter, one of the worst areas for such a season, and yet the weather doesn't account for even one of the goose-bumps prickling on my skin. Months of despair and despondency since the sun last came back out and we lost a friend, and I have never felt more animate and teeming and wholly extant until this moment.

The back of his neck is warm and smooth against my hands. In a breath, the thought passes out of my lips like a rumor. I'm not even sure if I say it. I know very well I shouldn't, for the sake of the circumstance.

"Is this going to ruin our lives?"

He doesn't reply, which is a response as any. Do we care?

A call from beyond interrupts, as if some divine force has stomped right into the streets of Colburn.

"Cut!"

A bell sounds.

In an instant, the city becomes a replica once again, with all its grit and realism darting away with the spotlights.

Fake snow stops falling.

Microphones shut off.

Extras stop moving down the street and break their character with an exhale and a little laugh.

Our kiss concludes with an unceremonious pull away. Chapter and I step back from each other a little maladroit.

Another scene in our new film, Onward Train, finished.

"Absolutely perfect!"

This comes from a lady in a crisp black blazer and thin glasses––Shailey Passey, our director. She nods approvingly, putting her thumb up for more confirmation.

"All right?" Chapter asks, just for the flare of it.

"Some of your best work, truly. And Emeray, I loved that little added murmur near the end, whatever it really was. It added a good personable feel to the whole scene, especially since the mics only got it muffled. People are going to be wondering what the hell you said for years, me included."