Sitting in the waiting area, I stare out at the sky and watch planes take off and land, waiting for my favorite wave to return to me. The sky is painted in the warmest orange hue and slowly darkens as the sun sets.
I click out of Instagram when I see another close friends story from Lauren of her and Jun eating at some restaurant.
After spending a week with Lauren and Seira carrying out classic post-breakup self-care rituals, I expect her to take time to work through her feelings and slow things down with Jun, but after a few days, it all starts up again.
With impeccable timing, Jun's name flashes on the screen.
"Hey, you."
"Where are you at?"
"LAX."
Lauren's voice chimes in. "Isn't she picking up Bash?"
"I forgot," Jun laughs. "Sorry, I was gonna ask if you want to grab dinner or something."
"Maybe another time?"
Lauren appears on the call. "Why don't you bring boy wonder? We can all hang out."
Part of me wants to decline simply because I'm looking forward to having Brendon all to myself after a couple of months apart. With all of the turbulence of our schedules, taking it easy will be preferable. I know on Brendon's end, after spending an entire day traveling, he's likely to want to settle back in at his house.
I'm also not fond of what appears to be a double date with two pairs of people stuck in their own will-they-won't-they mess. But stating that outright will leave them throwing questions at me I'm not ready to answer.
"He's getting off a long flight. He'll probably be tired."
"The man has to eat, Stev," Lauren laughs. "Just ask. If not then no big. Let us know."
Protesting too much will look suspicious so I don't bother. Since he's not likely to be enthusiastic about the suggestion, I'll leave it up to him to reject their offer.
When my eyes drift back to the window, Brendon's shadowy figure, backlit by the fading sun, begins to descend upon the building. My heart simultaneously leaps out of my chest at the sight of him while dreading his answer.
"I'll ask if he's up for it. Call you in a bit."
After hanging up the phone, I tuck it into my pocket and speed across the empty waiting area. He barely has time for his suitcase to cross the threshold before I launch myself into his arms. His entire body radiates with a warm smile and I smother myself in his soft glow. If incineration is a byproduct of getting lost in Brendon, I'll become a pile of ash.
"I'm here for a month," he states with a laugh before pulling away.
"Who said I'm hanging out with you the entire time?"
Tucking me under his arm, Brendon shifts his bags to his other hand. "Pretending you don't like me doesn't work after you kissed me."
"I kissed you? Pretty sure you leaned in first."
"You didn't stop me." He cracks another smile.
"Will be more than happy to reject you if you want to try again."
Brendon laughs, nudging me along.
I twirl his car keys around my finger while he loads his bags into the trunk. "Want to head back to the house or did you need to stop somewhere?"
"You don't have to drive." Brendon slams the trunk closed. When he reaches for the keys, I pull my hand away. "The house is good."
"You just got off a flight. And you could learn a thing or two about driving from me," I joke.
"Oh, really?"
"Haven't you heard? I'm friends with Idris Johnson. Seven-time World Champ. Learning from the best."
Brendon shoves me away with a laugh and heads to the passenger side. Within seconds, we peel out of the parking lot.
I use Los Angeles traffic to build myself up to ask about Lauren's request. Stuck between a creepy white van and a self-driving Tesla is when I shoot my reluctant shot.
"Yeah, sure." He kicks his feet out as far as he can while moving his seat back. "Plane food sucked. I'm starving."
"Perfect." Not. So much for Plan A.
"Hey. What's going on there?" He taps the side of my head.
"Nothing."
"Stevie."
"We gotta stop doing this."
Brendon laughs. "Then answer the first time. Please."
"I don't..." I debate telling him anything in the first place, quickly realizing it's Brendon we're talking about so, of course, I'm going to crumble under his scrutiny. "Ok, just don't tell them I told you anything. Obviously."
"Obviously." Brendon leans his elbow on the center console. "So, this is about Jun and Lauren then."
I tap my fingers against the steering wheel. "Do you think I'm overstepping? They're adults. They should be able to handle their relationship drama, right?"
"Yes to the second question," he agrees without hesitation. "Have you said anything to them that you think is overstepping or pushy?"
"Well—" Aside from both times they approached me separately, I don't go out of my way to talk about their relationship. Quite the opposite. Getting involved in their business sucks because I know how I would feel if I were in their places. "No, I don't think so. If they talk to me first, I give them my opinion. But I don't say anything otherwise."
"Then why do you think you're overstepping?"
"Just because I'm not saying it out loud doesn't mean I'm not thinking it."
"Well, sure." Brendon shrugs. "But you can't help from forming an opinion about two people you love. What you do with that opinion and how you share it is the issue."
"So there is an issue then."
"No," he scolds, "hypothetically speaking. If you were, but you're not."
"I don't know, I feel like she just broke up with Maver. And I get that people grieve and move on at their own pace but doesn't it still seem kind of early? They were on and off for over a year. This thing between her and Jun has been building up since we were practically in middle school but I hate to see it happen as a rebound."
"Have any of them made it seem like they're not comfortable with how it's going?"
"I guess not. But Jun is a lovesick puppy. And Lauren is the girl who stayed with Maver for that long."
"I don't know Lauren that well, so I'm probably not the best person to give advice," he says truthfully. "But from an outsider's perspective, I think you're not giving them enough credit. They're not the same teenagers anymore. And just because she was with Maver doesn't mean she's hopeless and can't trust her instincts. Hell, anyone that survives Maver Vincent has probably learned a thing or two about how not to do a relationship. The timing might not be ideal, but if you give them the chance to feel things out at their pace, they might surprise you."
"Maybe," I sigh. "I know I shouldn't just automatically expect the worst but—"
"You care about both of them." Reaching over, he rubs my leg in comforting strokes. I've never been happier to be stuck at a standstill. "Being concerned doesn't make you a bad person. But you have to let them make their mistakes or defy the odds all on their own. All you can do is be there for them, regardless of the outcome."
Brendon's touch brings me back down to reality, reminding me m this stress that doesn't belong to me in the first place is taking up too much real estate. As he rubs circles with his thumb, looking out the window and bobbing his head along to the music—Maverick's Lost in Translation is a perfect backdrop; as close as we are, I can't pretend to understand the intimate language of Jun and Lauren—I sign the eviction notice.
"No Jun and Lauren trouble," I raise my pink in the air, "promise."
Brendon laughs at the sight before hooking his pinky around mine. "Deal." After a beat, he adds, "Dinner at the house would be nice. I'm a little buggered. Probably won't be great company."
He's only saying it for my benefit but I appreciate it.
...
When I'm waiting with nothing but my thoughts and a forgotten Scream 3—apologies are for Everleigh and sir Dewey Riley—I let myself wander.
I run my finger along the glossy wood finish, skipping over the strings and down the neck. Even though I don't play instruments often when I'm on stage, a few times here and there I'll pull out an acoustic guitar.
Without thinking too hard, I pull the guitar off its stand and walk downstairs. After settling onto the couch, my fingers form the first chord and I pluck each note, drowning out the silence like a steady rainfall.
It's indescribable, this feeling settling into my chest. The way I fall in love with music over and over again. Whether it's a simple four-chord song or a piece of classical music I learned to play on the piano in high school. Each note, each flourish is like taking flight, and I never want to float back down.
Brendon sneaks back into the room and I drop the guitar on the couch.
"Give a girl a damn warning."
"Sorry." He grins. Hair slick with water. Droplets splattered on his grey t-shirt. The slightest dimple carved into his left cheek. "What song was that? Didn't sound familiar."
"Oh—" I shake my head, curls hiding my face. "Nothing. Just this chord progression I've had stuck in my head this past week. It's not from a song."
Brendon walks around the sofa and sits in front of me. Carefully, he picks up the guitar from where I dropped it and places it in his lap. His brows furrow together as he tries his best to mimic the tune, and he gets close but it's not quite there.
"Here." I move his fingers into place. It doesn't take long for him to catch on once I guide him in the right direction. Play a song for Brendon and he'll hum it like a lullaby; show Brendon how to play that song and he'll make it his own. "You're a natural."
His head drops against the sofa. Soft laughter slips out of him, wrapping me in a warm embrace. "You're sitting right there."
"Your point?"
Brendon strums again, this time adding to the melody. While hesitation breaches each new venture, he's confident enough to try, so even when he stumbles, he finds where he needs to be.
"Where's the note?" he asks without looking at me.
"What do you mean?"
"The note." He nods. "The one where you've already jotted down some lyrics."
The fact that he already knows without me hinting at it isn't what makes my cheeks flame red; I give myself the excuse that his central air is taking a while to cool down the house.
Wordlessly, Brendon reaches toward me and dips his hand into my right pants pocket, easily sliding out my phone tucked inside. After holding it out and waiting for me to punch in the password, he navigates quickly into my precious Notes app, though it takes him a minute to locate the file with this song since I have many untitled works in progress.
Sharing music with Brendon is as easy as breathing at this point. Might as well give him Face ID access to my phone so he can catch up on the new additions any time he wants.
He reads it over quickly; there's not much to begin with and he understands me (and what I create) better than most. "I can't believe you just called me a natural when you write stuff like this in your sleep."
I roll my eyes. "Thank you but stop exaggerating."
"I'm being dead serious." He looks at me. "What, you've never noticed?" After a second, he adds, "I suppose that's obvious but still."
"Literally no idea what you're talking about."
"You talk in your sleep," Brendon says with a laugh, and I tense up. "Actually, it's more like a hum. Some mumbling that turns into a song. It's interesting."
"That's embarrassing as all hell."
"It's cute."
Changing the subject is the only way I'll make it out in one piece tonight. "What was the first song you learned how to play?"
His mouth twists as he tries to remember the chords of the song, and once the notes start coming out of the instrument, I smile. A Crazy Little Thing Called Love by Queen is the least surprising first song for me to learn to play on the guitar. Even less surprising is Brendon learning Re: Stacks by Bon Iver. I can be loud and unforgiving in the way I command a stage sometimes. Brendon moves in subtleties—unassuming melodies, sweeping metaphors, and the kind of beauty that's impossible to turn away from, even when it's not trying to steal your attention away.
Brendon plays while I sing, the familiar words flowing out of me easily. And when I close my eyes, it all comes to life. In colors and vibrations. Under starry skies with no clouds in sight. Through our losses and past what we gain from them. Whether we are simply layers of all we've experienced or the push and pull of a steadily rhythmic life, we've found ourselves here together.
By the time we stop playing, discovering it as something new together, I'm fighting back a yawn. My north star high in the sky paints the bright lights with black, sealing us away in our moment in time. I'm under the blanket when he returns, holding one end open for him to crawl under. Which he does, slinking into the spot still warm from his body earlier. It's a massive couch with more than enough space for either of us to sleep alone side-by-side, as we did that first night, but we curl into each other.
I fall asleep with my head on his chest and my hand over his heart; my favorite moment as his tide comes back to my shore forevermore.