Work Text:
The glow of the neon pink sign is bright against the white wall of the building. Come on in! The poster on the front door says, Open until one a.m. daily!
I glare at it like it owes me money.
“See that?” My best friend Asha Kidd throws an arm around my shoulder. She grins, looking way too happy for someone in the middle of the night. “It’s practically begging for us to go in.”
“It’s too late for this,” I mutter, clutching onto my cup of black coffee like my life depends on it, “where did you get this idea anyways?”
She rolls her eyes so hard I’m surprised they don’t roll out of her head. “First of all, it’s only ten. Second of all, you need to have more fun. Third of all, you’re a good singer. I thought you would enjoy karaoke, Wilson.”
“But singing in front of everyone?!” I protest as she drags me in, opening the door and practically shoving me inside.
The loud beat from the DJ blasts in my ears as the smell of liquor and something weirdly like popcorn hits me. One person croons a sad love song in the middle of the group, holding the microphone so close that they’re practically making out with it.
Oh right. There are also couples in the shadows, kissing with a little too much tongue. I glance at two people hidden out of view, wince, and look away.
“What are you going to get?” Asha asks, already sliding a bill over the counter. She winks flirtatiously at the bartender. He blushes, looking flustered, and I try not to roll my eyes. Another person falling under her charms. I wonder how long it’ll be until she disappears somewhere with him.
My alcohol intake is very low. Staring at the rows and rows of bottles of beer, vodka, rum, and everything in between, I reply, “I dunno. A small Vodka Cranberry, please.”
The bartender slides it over. I take a sip, the liquid burning down my throat as I swallow it with a grimace. I’d much rather have coffee.
“Strawberry Daiquiri,” says a voice that’s somehow ended up beside me. It’s a low voice, hushed in a way that makes it sound like he’s sharing a secret with you. The owner of the voice leans over, his arm casually brushing mine, sending sparks of electricity through me. His golden brown hair falls into his eyes– he doesn’t bother to brush them away.
When his drink comes, he raises his cup and has a long drink of the red liquid inside. His throat bobs as he swallows, and I find that I can’t look away.
He sees me watching and smiles like he knows the effect he has on people. “Brando Connell,” he introduces himself, hand tapping his glass absent-mindedly.
I startle at the way that he’s talking to me. That he’s actually noticing me, not pretending that I don’t exist.
“I’m Wilson,” I say, my voice quiet and uninteresting compared to his.
“Anyone call you Will?” he asks, the words sliding off his tongue effortlessly, almost musically.
I shake my head.
“Guess I’ll be the first then.” Brando grins at me, lips stained slightly red from the Daiquiri he’s drinking. His teeth are perfectly white and straight, his mouth looking soft and pink. His hazel eyes sparkle, shifting from brown to green to brown again, tiny flecks of gold and amber visible. They’re so interesting that it’s hard to tear my gaze away.
“I guess you will be,” I reply, trying hard not to look like I’m staring at him. The light lands directly on him like he’s the lead actor for a show, and I’m just someone in the audience.
Brando nods at Asha, who’s flirting with the bartender. “Is that a friend of yours?”
Then everything clicks.
Of course. Of course Brando wouldn’t have talked to me if he didn’t want to find out more information about Asha. Gods. I didn’t know that he would stoop that low. I guess he would. Why did I assume that he would be a good friend of mine? Or more than a friend?
“Why?” My tone is as cold as the Vodka Cranberry I’m drinking. “Do you want me to give her your number?”
Brando blinks, looking unsure for the first time in this conversation. “No…” he trails off. “That wasn’t what I was asking?”
I raise an eyebrow. “Then what were you asking?”
Did he just blush? Clearing his throat, Brando looks away. “Nevermind,” he mumbles. He turns back to me. “Can we just– restart this entire talk? Pretend that you’ve never met me?”
I shrug. “Yeah, sure.” You can’t miss what you’ve never had.
“Okay then.” Brando walks away, leaving me alone. Somehow, I think he didn’t get what he wanted, and it wasn’t Asha’s phone number.
I take small sips of my drink as I try not to flinch at the voices of the people singing. Honestly I expected better from a high-rated karaoke bar. I thought it would have actual singers, but it’s mostly just brave volunteers half singing, half laughing into the microphone.
I decide that I’d rather die before anyone could drag me onto the small stage.
Then a person appears beside me. Brando again.
“Hello,” he says, trying to look serious and failing at it, “do I know you? My name is Brando Connell. Twenty-four years old and devilishly handsome.” He winks at me, and it makes my breath quicken more than I’d like to admit. “What’s yours?”
I huff a laugh before I can stop myself. He’s just so ridiculous, and it’s so stupid that of course I have to join in. “Wilson King,” I tell him. “Also twenty-four.”
He pouts teasingly. I don’t look at his lips. Why am I getting attracted to a random stranger in a bar? Even if it's a funny, pretty stranger? “Not devilishly handsome?” he asks, his voice mockingly sad. “Aw, don’t be mad. You don’t look too bad yourself.”
You look amazing. I don’t say the words that come to my mind.
It’s dark in the bar. Brando tilts his head back to finish off his drink. He’s done already? The shadows of his eyelashes brush his cheek, also hitting the spot under his chin, making him look mysterious and gloomy. I notice for the first time his outfit– a white flowy shirt, open at the chest and a pair of black pants.
It looks good on him. Really good. I glance down at my white t-shirt and jeans and wonder why I didn’t even at least try to dress up.
“You going to hit the stage?” Brando asks, gesturing to the large crowd in front of the stage like this was a concert. “You’re giving off tortured poet song-writer vibes.” It slips off his tongue so easily I barely think twice about it before I return and thumb through the words carefully.
I snort before I can stop myself, nearly choking on my Vodka Cranberry. “Tortured poet song-writer?” I demand when I recover. “Excuse me?”
Brando lifts his hands in surrender. “Hey, just pointing out the facts. You’re brooding in a corner with your dark curls of hair falling into your eyes. It makes sense.”
“Okay, Romeo.” The nickname slips out like it belongs to him. “You’re the one joining the tortured poet song-writer in his very, very deep brooding.”
“It was a compliment,” he mutters, but he nudges my arm, his mouth twitching with amusement, swiping his hair out of his eyes.
“Who’s this?” Asha appears at my shoulder, apparently bored with the bartender. She meets Brando’s eyes despite the fact that she’s a few inches shorter than him. How tall is Brando? Around six feet at least. Why am I even wondering? Why am I looking at his long legs? “Hello, mysterious guy, who’s managed to get my introverted best friend into a conversation.”
He grins. “Your best friend is being rude. Because I complimented him.”
“Hey.” I scowl and hit his arm lightly. “Calling a tortured poet who’s also a song-writer is not a compliment.”
Brando shakes his head. “You see what I mean?” he says, talking like he’s known both of us forever. He turns to Asha for help.
She smirks at me. “It kind of fits you though, Wilson, I gotta admit.”
“Thank you very much for your help, Asha,” I mutter. “I really appreciate it.”
She beams at me. “No problem.” She walks towards me, pausing to whisper in my ear, “You are so in love with him.” She keeps walking, a skip to her step like she knows exactly what’s going on between me and Brando.
Not that there’s actually anything going on between us. Asha is just delusional.
Brando finishes off his drink. I glance down at my own cup, practically still full. Yet I already feel the buzz of the alcohol working its way up to my brain. It’s a good thing I’m not finishing the rest of it. I’d probably be drunk by then.
“Are you a good singer?” Brando asks, pointing the cup at me.
I duck my head down modestly. “Asha says I’m pretty good. I don’t really know though.”
His eyes sparkle, the gold flecks in his hazel eyes so bright despite the dim light. “You’d probably find out if you go up on stage.”
“Definitely not.” I cross my arms and try to look serious, which is hard because his enthusiasm is contagious.
“You just need to be a little bit buzzed up,” Brando tells me.
“I’m already buzzed up,” I mutter.
“This is your buzzed up? I hate to see you when you’re sober.”
“Are you calling me boring?”
“...Maybe?” He smiles sheepishly at me.
I drag my hands through my hair and down my face. I would be mad with anyone else. Not him though. He’s so open and honest, in a sort of sweet way that makes it impossible to be mad at him.
“Okay, okay,” I relent. “Maybe I am a little bit boring.”
“Loosen up a little.” He takes my hand, a grin on his face like this is a normal Saturday for him, just taking the hand of a guy that he’s just met. “Dance with me.”
I look at the stage, where this older man with a beard is howling his heart out. “Dance?” I try not to sound too shocked. “Now? With this music?”
“Scared?” His face is bright with challenge, a smirk tugging at his lips.
Who is this person? And why am I willing to do whatever he says? Why am I standing up to accept the challenge?
“I’m not.” I barely spare a glance at how our fingers are intertwined perfectly together like they’re pieces of a jigsaw that connect. “Just try to keep up with me.” I throw my arms around his neck and push him forward until we’re in the crowd of dancing people. He smells like melted sugar– caramel– and a hint of cinnamon. Almost like a bakery.
I don’t let his delicious scent distract me as he spins me around, catching me by the waist and pulling me back. I try to do a series of fancy footwork that I’ve only done once in my life and trip over his shoe, laughing as I collapse into his arms.
“Not boring after all,” Brando murmurs in my ear before dipping me, right as the music stops. We’re both gasping for breath, sweat-soaked but happy. I can’t remember the last time I’ve had this much fun.
“You’re not so bad yourself,” I tease, my arms still around his neck, his hands still on my waist. I’m way too close to someone that I’ve just met, but who cares? A bar is where you’re supposed to meet new people.
Brando laughs, bright and cheery. “I like to think that I’m decent. Want me to buy you another drink?”
“No,” I retort, “unless you want me to fall asleep on your shoulder.” Sometimes I wish I was a fun drunk, not one who wanted to take a nap the minute they drank one cup of booze.
Brando smirks. “I see. But considering that you’re at a bar…”
I roll my eyes. “Don’t even start with that. Asha dragged me here. I have no intention of being here if it was up to me.”
“But you’re still here,” Brando says softly, his tone changing, an emotion in his voice– I can’t tell what exactly it is, though. “You stayed.”
I flush slightly, hoping that Brando thinks it’s the heat and not his words. “I guess I am.”
We stay silent for a while. Running his hands through his messy brown hair, Brando licks his lips– soft and slightly stained red from the Strawberry Daiquiri he had earlier. “Well,” he says after a moment, “let’s get a snack or something.”
As we walk over there, I glance at the large neon pink sign in the corner announcing the time. Eleven eleven. It’s the time to make a wish.
I hesitate, looking at Brando who’s walking in front of me. Closing my eyes, I whisper my wish under my breath. I don’t want anybody to think I’m weird or anything.
My task complete, I sit down beside Brando, my leg pressing against his. Neither of us pull away.
“Mint chocolate ice cream,” Brando says to me, nodding to the bowl between us. “Is that okay?”
“Yeah.” I pick up the plastic white spoon and take a bite. It’s cool and refreshing, melting in my mouth along with the tiny pieces of chocolate chips until it turns into an ice cream soup.
“Oh.” Brando suddenly looks unsure. “There’s– there’s only one spoon.”
“Oh.” I put the spoon down immediately, searching for the person that’s behind the counter– they’re nowhere to be found.
“Yeah,” Bran agrees. Probably to the curses that are in my head right now. “But it’s okay.”
I think that he’s just going to let me eat the entire thing, and I’m about to protest, but then he picks up the spoon, scoops up a bit of the green ice cream, and puts it in his mouth.
Heat flashes through me. I try not to blush. If it was in my mouth before, that means it has my spit on it, and if it went into Brando’s mouth, that’s the equivalent of–
Nope. I squeeze my legs shut. Not going in that direction.
But you have to admit it’s a bit like kissing– even making out at this point. I tell my mind to shut up and smile like nothing’s wrong. “Is it good?” I ask, my voice relaxed and light. My gaze drifts to his mouth. A bit of the melted ice cream is on his lips. His tongue comes out to lick it clean.
Fuck this. I turn the other way.
“Yeah. It’s good.” Brando grins and takes another bite, handing the spoon back to me like we’re longtime friends instead of people who’ve just met an hour ago.
I stare at it. Meet Brando’s gaze. His eyes seem to always be sparkling with mischief, looking a bit dark green in the dim light. Lifting up the spoon with the ice cream on it, I place it in my mouth.
Brando smiles and nudges me as I finish the dessert. But it’s different from before. It’s more warm. More intimate. Especially as I unconsciously lean towards him like it’s a second instinct, and my shoulder presses against his. Now two parts of me are touching him. Not that I’m noticing, of course.
“Thanks for buying the ice cream,” I say, his touch practically burning through my clothes. It doesn’t help when he shifts and turns to look at me.
“No problem.” He pats my shoulder and grabs my wrist. I’m so surprised that I let him drag me back to the dance floor.
Someone’s singing a slow waltz, something about loving someone so much they’d follow them into hell. I wrap my arms around my neck, and I let him lead me into the moves. Again, things have changed. His eyes are like caves so deep they’ll never be ever fully discovered, but I want to stay forever to explore every part of them. They shift from brown to dark green, never seeming to stay in one place.
He looks at me then, catching my gaze, and smiles, his lips lifting up at the corners, almost shyly. He stares into my eyes as we move together, probably because there’s no other place to look.
I sigh and lean over just slightly to be able to smell him better, breathing in the scent of sugar syrup and cinnamon. It’s so good I want to bottle it up and smell it whenever I’m feeling down.
Brando’s hands squeeze my waist just a little bit tighter. “You’re a good dancer,” he whispers, his voice soft and musical and sounding like the steady drip of rain.
I laugh quietly, my face suddenly too close yet too far away from his. “I stepped on your feet a few times.”
“Yeah. You did. But you’re feeling the music, aren’t you?”
I flush slightly, duck my head, and nod. My nose nearly brushes his neck. That’s how close we are together.
Brando grins, looking even better close-up. “I knew you were a song-writer.”
My head shoots up, and I gasp a mock offended gasp. “That doesn’t mean I’m a song-writer!” I protest– or lie, thinking about my journal filled with lyrics and the guitar I strum every day. “You’re being unfair!”
His lips almost graze my ear. I shiver even when it’s stiflingly hot in the bar. “It’s okay,” Brando practically coos. “You can admit it. I won’t make fun of you. Or maybe I will, but only a little bit.”
I can’t think straight when he’s this close to me. “Maybe I will,” I agree, reaching up a hand to brush his porcelain cheek. It’s as smooth and flawless as it looks. “But only if you give me something that I really really want.”
“Oh?” His eyes widen with interest. “And what is that?”
Now I don’t hide the fact that I’m staring at his mouth. He looks at me, confused, then understands. Knowing flashes on his face. He grins. “I know I’m irresistible, right?”
I whack his arm. “Shut up,” I mumble, feeling heat rise to my face. “I’ve changed my mind.” But I haven’t really. I definitely haven’t.
Brando hums, leaning forward until his breath puffs over my lips. “I don’t know. Is it really worth it though?”
“I’d really appreciate it,” I whisper, staring into his eyes. “It’d be really nice.”
Slowly, Brando moves closer, smiling almost shyly now. Does he want it too? Please tell me he does.
He’s a stranger, and he already has his grasps around my heart. “I accept your deal,” he murmurs, voice soft and sweet, none of the arrogance from earlier. It’s just us now, no masks and no lies.
I lean closer, and my lips just graze his, I just taste the sugar syrup of his mouth when the song suddenly changes.
A loud pop song bursts through the large speakers, almost deafening me. Startled, I flinch, and Brando pulls away immediately, looking anxious, biting his lip. “Was that okay?” he asks. “Was that fine?”
“Yes,” I say, without doubting it at all. “It wasn’t you. It was the song…”
Brando nods, taking a step away from me. His expression is suddenly guarded, his eyes hard. “I’m sorry,” he says, too quickly, “I shouldn’t have done that. I think I had too much to drink.”
“No.” I close my fingers around his wrist, not letting him run away from me. “It’s fine. Really. I liked it.” I loved it.
He nods again, not believing it. My heart drops to my stomach as I see the person that I’ve fallen in love with in hours turn into the stranger that he should be. He’s gone, and I don’t know if I can get him back.
“I have to go to the bathroom. I’ll be back soon.” He smiles, slightly strained and definitely forced, and disappears into the crowd. I stare after him, squeezing my eyes shut as if I could turn back time and live through that moment again. Maybe I could fix everything. Maybe I could still have him if I could turn back time.
I sigh and scowl at the ground. The one time I love someone, and it’s the person I can never have. The amazing, perfect, funny, charming person that shouldn’t be seen with someone like me, the tortured poet song-writer who really only talks to their best friend.
“Hey.” Asha’s voice sounds behind me. “What happened? I saw you two. Why did he leave?” Her hand closes into a fist. “Did he hurt you? What was he saying? I’m going to kill him–”
“It’s fine,” I whisper. “I shouldn’t have been that bold. I think I scared him away. But I thought that he wanted it too–”
Now her voice sounds different. Sympathetic. “He’s an idiot for not seeing you. He’ll come around eventually. You’re not stupid. The last time I’ve seen you in love was that hopeless crush in middle school. You’d probably choose someone good. And I think Brando is that good.”
“But–” Tears come to my eyes. I blink them away. “I don’t know. What if he doesn’t– what if he doesn’t even like me that way?”
Asha squeezes my hand. “Why would he kiss you if he didn’t like you?”
“It was a deal…” I trail off. Hesitate. Then start over again, my voice slightly stronger than before. “He’d kiss me if I told him if I really was a song-writer.”
“I believe that he likes you that way,” she says softly. “I saw the way he looked at you when you guys were dancing together. Like you were the only person in the entire world.”
I shake my head, still staring out at the crowd like Brando could come back any moment. “He wouldn’t look at me like that. Would he?”
“He did. And now you’re going to convince him that staying is worth it,” Asha says, her face determined.
“It’s just a fling at the bar,” I mutter, ignoring what Asha said, trying to convince myself that my words are true. “A misunderstanding. I’ll probably never see him again.”
“If you want to, if you’re willing to reach out and do so, you would stay in touch,” Asha tells me. She throws her long brown hair back and gazes at me, her eyes sharp and fierce. “Try,” she adds, saying the word like it holds the answer to everything. “Just try.”
I hesitate. Brando really has disappeared. What if he left already? What do I do then? What if we both pretend that we’ve never met each other? What if I pretend that the last few hours weren’t the best ones I’ve ever had?
I let out a long breath. “Okay,” I say finally. “But you need to help me find him first.”
“Yeah.” Asha nods. “I’ll help you do that. He wouldn't have gone far.”
I smile weakly. “You’ve talked to him for thirty seconds.”
“Yeah… but he’s a good person… I’m pretty sure.”
“Thanks for the reassurance,” I mutter, but I obediently follow her through the crowd. We’ve only been walking a few minutes, the loud dance song that’s playing practically cheering us on when Asha grabs my arm.
“Look. He’s literally right there, looking like his dog just died. I knew he liked you!” She grins at me, pointing at him.
“Ohmigosh.” I pull her arm down. “Don’t point!”
She throws her head back and laughs. “Go get him. Steal his heart or whatever. Put on that charm!” Then she hesitates. “Be careful though. I don’t want you to get hurt.”
For a few seconds, I just stand there, gazing at him. He looks like an angel, the light shining just for him, illuminating the almost gold and slightly red streaks in his golden brown hair, his hazel eyes dark and unreadable as he takes a sip from a red plastic cup he has.
He hasn’t left. He’s still here. The knot in my stomach loosens slightly. It’s dangerous. He’s so dangerous. And possibly the best thing that’s ever happened to me.
I don’t think I’ve ever felt so alive when I was dancing with him. Now I just have to make him see it.
Turning back, I look at Asha again. She sees me watching and gives me a thumbs-up.
I guess now I have to go.
I work my way through the crowd, weaving through the sea of bodies and ducking out of the way of hands that fly in my direction as people dance to the loud song that is playing. Something about getting the person you love or something. Maybe that’s a good sign.
Then everyone starts cheering. The song ends. They stop moving. Turn to look at me.
The attention is too much for me. I duck my head down, flushing, and they only cheer louder. What’s going on? I search the crowd for any answers and I see Brando looking at me, gaze steady, unwavering, mouth slightly parted in shock.
Someone comes and shoves a microphone in my hand. It’s almost wet with sweat. I nearly drop it in disgust. After staring at it for a while, I finally discover what’s happening. Why everyone’s looking at me.
I just signed up to sing the next song, and I didn't even know until I made it to the middle of the crowd where the spotlight was.
My heart thuds in my ears. My eyes search for the nearest exit, knowing that there’s no way out of this.
“Go on the stage!” People start chanting. “Get on!”
But I’m not focusing on their voices, I’m looking at Brando, who’s still staring at me like he doesn’t quite believe that I’m real. At least I got his attention.
Then Brando smiles slightly like he’s almost amused by this and waves his hand, gesturing to the stage.
Then I climb onto the stage. Slowly, walking up the stairs, every step feeling like I’m walking to my own funeral. I clutch the microphone like it’s keeping me grounded. I know I can sing. But how would everyone react? What if they hate my singing? What if all the lessons I had as a kid and the way I sing everyday doesn’t actually make me a good singer?
How will Brando react?
The music starts, the beat practically its own music. I close my eyes, feeling the melody come to me. I know this song. Sang it in the shower way too many times.
You say we’re fine but your brown eyes
Are green this time, so you’ve been crying
I open my eyes again after I finish the first two lines of the song. Brando blinks, looking shocked. Does that mean my singing is bad or good? I look back at him, and he snaps out of it, smiling at me, shyly even. I’m sorry, he mouths, but I’ve already forgiven him.
It's in the way you say my name
So quick, so straight, it sounds the same
As the time we took a break
February fourth through the sixteenth of May
So strange to be back at your place
Pretending like nothing has changed
Oh-oh-oh
I finally breathe after finishing these lines, swaying slightly in time with the background music, knowing that the chorus will be coming soon. Everyone cheers again, and I’m blown away by how loud it is. Asha’s grinning, and Brando’s–
The way Brando is looking at me makes me forget how to breathe. Which isn’t good because the chorus is coming–
Speak up, I know you hate me
Looked at your picture and cried like a baby
Speak up, don't leave me waiting
Got way too drunk off a vodka cranberry
Called you up in the middle of the night
Wailing like an imbecile
If you won't end things, then I will
This part always makes me sad. I close my eyes, letting the music wash over me, letting it take me completely as I open my mouth to sing again, knowing that I sing the best when I feel the song. Live inside the lines.
Now I look dumb and you look mean
You casually steal back your T-shirt
And your Polo cap, yeah, I noticed that
Yeah, I notice everything you do
I open my eyes and see people dancing slowly to the music. Most, though, are still staring at me, stunned or horrified by my singing. I really hope it’s the first one. Brando pushes his way until he’s at the front of the stage, smiling. Suddenly the sad lyrics don’t hurt anymore. Not when Brando’s smile is there, the sun after a long day of storms.
Since the time we took a break
Everybody knows you don't love me the same
So cruel to be lying to my face
'Cause I know what you're too scared to say, oh-oh-oh
Catching my breath, I meet Brando’s eyes. His gaze is unwavering. Strong and steady. He waves at me. Before I can wave back, the chorus starts again.
Speak up, I know you hate me
Looked at your picture and cried like a baby
Speak up, don't leave me waiting
Got way too drunk off a vodka cranberry
Called you up in the middle of the night
Wailing like an imbecile
If you won't end things, then I will
I drop to the ground. I need all my lungs for the bridge. Especially if I want to hit the high note.
“Chant the words,” I yell into the microphone, “scream everything!” Everybody cheers for so long that they almost miss the words they should be chanting, but that’s okay. They say it at the end. They are here for me.
Don’t make me do this to you.
The words echo through the bar as everyone screams it, as they release all the emotions they’ve been building up the entire song.
I will
(Don’t make me do this, but I will) I will
I will
I will
I take a deep breath. Close my eyes. Lean my head back. Open my eyes just long enough to catch Brando’s gaze. He doesn’t blink, looking at me, giving me the strength I need to hit the high note– a G5, and I know before actually singing it, that I’m going to hit it, because Brando’s right there, and I’m not going to mess up when he’s there.
I will…
Suddenly, everyone goes quiet. The only noise is the note that I just hit drawing out for as long as I can before continuing on with the last chorus of the song.
Speak up, I know you hate me
Looked at your picture and cried like a baby
Speak up, don't leave me waiting
Got way too drunk off a vodka cranberry
Called you up in the middle of the night
Wailing like an imbecile
If you won't end things, then I will…
The cheering nearly deafens me as I look at the crowd, at everyone supporting me, at everyone waving their arms in time with the music and grin. Grin wide, raising my arms above my head and bowing.
They cheer even louder as I walk down the stage. The next song starts, but it’s barely heard under the loud talking and the way the cheering still hasn’t stopped, not even as I disappear into the crowd, heading straight for Brando.
“Wow,” Brando says the minute I reach him. “Just wow. I knew people could sing, but I didn’t know that people could sing this well.”
I laugh softly, my cheeks flushing. “It really wasn’t that good.”
Brando shakes his head, taking my hand, electricity sparking between our skin. I wonder if he can feel it too. “Don’t be modest. That was the best singing I’ve ever heard.”
I smile and lean into him, scared that he’s going to pull away but still risking it anyways. He catches me and holds me, one arm wrapping around his shoulders, his hand coming to rest on my chest. “I’m sorry I ran,” Brando says. “I was scared I wasn’t good enough. I was scared I made you uncomfortable.”
I press closer to him, turning my head slightly so it rests on Brando’s shoulder. “You never made me uncomfortable,” I whisper. “You made me feel seen.”
Brando laughs softly and runs his free hand through my hair, his touch feeling like gossamer, like the softest silk in the world. “I thought I was too much. But you’re a lot too, aren’t you? There’s so much more to you. So, so much.” He smooths back my hair from my forehead and suddenly I feel five years old again.
“The only reason I went onto the stage was because I was looking for you,” I say, suddenly needing to say it. I need him to see how much he means to me. How much someone that I’ve known for three hours has affected my life already.
Brando chuckles, the sound sending sparks of warmth through me. “So it was accidental? You looked so confident. So daring. I almost wanted to climb up onto the stage and climb on… other things.”
I blush and nudge him, but the effect is done– that warmth in me turns into heat. He grins mischievously and pulls me closer. The smell of burnt sugar envelopes me like a cozy blanket. “It’s crazy how attached to you I am already,” he says. “I wish this wasn’t a bar. Somewhere more preferable. Like a cafe or something.”
I hum, smiling. “This is alright though,” I murmur, “besides, you smell like a bakery.”
Brando laughs, surprised. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“I don’t know,” I say, flushing. “My mind isn’t working right.”
“Alcohol?”
I nod, but it’s really not alcohol. It’s him. It’s all him, making me bold and impulsive and wanting to do things I’ve probably would never dream of if it weren’t for him.
“–Oh, I almost forgot,” he reaches into the pocket of his pants and pulls out his phone. “Put your number in here. I don’t want to forget to do that later.”
Taking his phone, our fingers brush together, adding to the fire growing inside of me. I enter in my number, he takes back the phone, smiling at it as he types something in my information.
I peek over his shoulder. “The person who’s going to change my life?” I quote from the phone. “Am I really going to do that?”
Brando turns to look at me. My heart drops. My knees shake. I find myself wanting to stare into his intense burning eyes and also look away because no one has ever seen anyone more beautiful. He reaches for my hand, and I let him take it. “Of course you will,” he says softly. “You’ve already did.”
I laugh weakly, staring down at our intertwined fingers, looking so perfect yet subtle together. It’s like something that’s going to change the world, but not now. People still don’t know how important it is yet. “How did I?”
Brando lifts up our linked hands, brings it up to his face, and kisses them. My breath hitches. “This,” he whispers, dropping our hands to cup my face. “This. Right now. The moment I met you. Everything. I’ve been floating ever since I saw you for the first time and I still am. I’m floating in the clouds every time you’re near me.”
“I–I–” I can’t form any sentences right now. Not when the most amazing person is saying this to me. Instead, I reach up, place my hand on his cheek, brush a thumb under his eye. He leans into the touch, closing his eyes, his long lashes fanning out like a painting. “Can I–”
“Yes.” No hesitation is in Brando’s voice. No shakiness. Just one, clear yes.
“Don’t run away this time,” I whisper, standing on my tip-toes, leaning closer. My words are only half-joking.
“Of course not,” he says quietly. “I’m never going to run away from you ever again.” And with that statement, he closes the distance between us. His mouth brushes mine, and I kiss him harder, his lips soft and warm against mine, tasting like pure sugar and a hint of mint chocolate ice cream. He wraps his arms around my waist, pulling me closer. I run my fingers through his hair, feeling how fluffy and cloud-like it is.
I gasp when he nips my bottom lip and I open my mouth, letting him in, letting him explore every bit of me. Now we’re the couple who’s making out in the shadows.
Reluctantly, after a while, I pull away to get air into my burning lungs. Brando looks at me, smiling, giving me some space before kissing me again, though not with the urgency as the last kiss– this one is sweet and gentle, feeling like a warm hug, like a silent promise to be by my side.
“I– I really really like you,” I whisper, my mouth brushing his with every word spoken.
Slowly, Brando tucks a curl behind my ear, leaving his hand there on the side of my cheek. “I really like you too,” he says. “A lot.”
I close my eyes and lean into his touch, letting his finger trail along my face, his touch soothing, practically burning into my skin. He laughs softly under his breath as I make a sound I didn’t know I was capable of making as he ducks his head and kisses my neck, lingering there like a magic spell.
His hair tickles under my chin as he kisses the baseline of my neck, lips barely grazing the collar of my shirt. I almost want to take off my t-shirt, let him kiss anymore he wants.
“You smell amazing,” I say, the words slipping out like it’s a normal sentence to utter.
Brando’s breath is warm against my skin. He presses his mouth against my neck once more and then stands upright again. Gods. I barely reach his nose, and I think I’m pretty tall. “Thank you,” he replies, his smile as bright as the sun. “You don’t smell too bad yourself.”
I grin– I don’t think I’ve smiled this much in my life, and shove him gently, letting him wrap his arms around me, and lean into his chest, breathing in deeply. There’s no way we just met a few hours ago, because I feel like we’ve known each other forever.
“Come on,” he says, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. “Let’s go dance. Or sing. Or do whatever you want.”
“Sing,” I murmur. “If you can handle it.”
“You were the one who was nervous before,” he protests. “Let’s go, then.” He takes my hand and drags me along the crowd. I have to scramble to catch up.
“I didn’t know you were so excited,” I tease, running to be at the same pace as him.
Brando turns to look at me, brown-green eyes sparkling, his face flushed slightly from exertion, and my heart stops. He’s the prettiest person I’ve ever seen. “Anything to hear you sing again,” he says. “Although maybe not a sad song.”
“I saw you blinking back tears.” I grin and swing our hands along like it’s a walk in the park.
“No you did not.” He glares playfully at me, lips in a pout, looking so soft and pink and kissable. I barely manage to stop myself from kissing him as we near the crowd.
“We’d like to sing again,” I say politely. The person with the microphone takes one look at me, eyes widening, and hands the mic to me immediately– two mics, actually, clapping me on the back so hard it stings.
“You’re the high-note guy,” they say. I guess that’s how I’m known as then.
I glance at Brando and find that he’s trying to stifle a laugh. “Yeah, I guess I am,” I mumble sort of awkwardly, pull Brando with me, and slowly climb up the stairs to the stage.
It’s not as scary as last time. How could it be, when Brando is here with me?
“How good are you at singing?” I ask, handing him the other microphone.
Brando purses his lips, looking suddenly unsure. “Not as good as you,” he admits. “But I guess I can sort of carry a tune?”
“More enjoyable for me then.” I pull him into the shadows behind the curtains and kiss him– just because I can. Brando smirks.
“That made me feel better.” He kisses me again and steps out into the crowd, blinking at the large crowd. I guess word got around that “the high-note guy” is singing again.
The song starts, and I recognize it immediately. Brando relaxes next to me, so I think he knows the song too.
I hold the mic to my face and sing the first few lines.
You know that I love you…
***
Brando cradles my head gently as he holds me to him, his mouth on mine, warm and steady as he kisses me, occasionally slipping a tongue in, but it’s mostly innocent. Closing my eyes, I lean into him, my hand on the back of his neck, tilting my head to get that perfect angle where our lips fit together like they were meant to do this.
“I have your number,” Brando murmurs into the kiss. “I’ll call you and we can meet up again next time.”
“Mhm.” I hesitate, debating whether to ask the question that’s been on my mind all day. Slowly, I glance back at Asha, whose hands are in her pockets, waiting patiently for me. I decide to ask, because that’s what she’ll want me to do. “This isn’t just a bar fling, right?”
Brando pulls back to look at me with his mesmerizing eyes, his hands cupping both sides of my face, gazing at me so tenderly I want to take back the question immediately.
But I need to know. My entire heart is already his– I need to know.
“Of course not.” He rubs his thumb over my cheek. “We’re more than that. Can you feel it? Because I’ve been feeling it since I met you.”
My mouth moves on its own, smiling, smiling so wide. I’ve never been happier in my life. “I’ve been feeling it too,” I say softly. “I just wanted to make sure.”
Brando kisses my temple. “I get that. I get how so many people just abandon the other after their one meeting. But we’re not like that. We’ll tell each other things.”
I nod in agreement. “So this is something real?”
“Oh Will.” He traces the line of my lips with his finger. “It’s been something real since the first time you kissed me. And I felt it. And I was scared by how powerful it was.”
“I like you,” I murmur. “A lot. A lot a lot.”
Brando laughs quietly. “I like you a lot a lot too.” He kisses me once more, looks at me for a while, and then clears his throat. “I’ll text you tomorrow. You should be getting back. It’s late.”
I smile. “You too.” I step forward and pull him into a hug, breathing in the smell of caramel and a hint of cinnamon. “I’ll see you later?”
“Definitely.” Brando grins at me, then starts walking down the street. I stand there, watch him exchange a few words with Asha, and then his silhouette disappears into the shadows.
I float all the way home.
***
When I get back, there’s already a message from Brando.
Meet me at Cafe Gray at noon tomorrow?
My mouth twitches into a smile as I quickly type a response back:
I’ll be there.