Balconial Conversations

45 // happy birthday

There are // because they're on HIS balcony, not hers see? If she was on hers then they wouldn't be there okay now I have to change the last chapter to intermission (because he wasn't in it) or smth ugh
***
Fresh, clean air washes over me, cooling my face that I didn't realize was hot. The figure leaning against the railing turns halfway, a cigarette dangling loosely from his hand.

Cam. With his hair flattened by a black ball cap, and his white shirt glowing in the darkness.

"Kather?" He asks, his voice mellow and slow. Drunk. "What are you doing here?"

Good question.

"Milo invited me," I tell him. He turns fully, resting his back trustfully on the ironwork. "So... happy birthday."

"Thank you... thank you." He dips his head.

"Why are you out here? Isn't it... in there?" I ask, cautiously. He shrugs, taking a lazy drag of the cigarette.

He exhales the puff of smoke breathily. "It's hot inside."

"It is."

There's a soft sort of silence, and he gazes at me with hooded eyes. It scares me how attractive he looks, like this. How... real, and vaguely unhinged in his looseness.

"Is this a celebratory smoke, or depressed smoke?" I ask, to break the silence and the staring. He squints one eye and surveys the building next door.

"Hmm... celebratory. Probably. I've decided I'll quit before my next birthday, and Gabriel gave me the expensive kind." He waves a shiny black box before dropping it to the balcony floor.

Maybe he's not drunk, just buzzed.

"That's good."

"Uh-huh." He's still watching me unnervingly.

"No stars out tonight," I say, and he smiles.

"They're shy, remember? They don't like bright lights or parties."

"I don't remember the parties part."

"Neither do I," he says, honestly, and I laugh. It starts out as a soft, surprised exhalation but all of the stress I put myself under tonight multiplies it into roars. I step forward and clutch the railing as I recover from my bout of giddiness.

He watches me with a face-splitting smile. We're very close now. Just inches. He takes a last breath of the cigarette, turning as he blows a puff of smoke off the balcony. He puts it out on the railing before letting it fall to the sidewalk below.

"So, you're twenty." I say.

"Well... as of two hours ago." He checks his watch but doesn't really read it. "Possibly."

"It's tomorrow now."

"Doesn't that mean today?" He asks, tipping his head back as if to look at the sky. I watch his throat as he swallows.

"Possibly." This makes him smile, wanly.

"So, another birthday. Over and gone."

"Kind of sad, don't you think?" I say it before thinking about the ramifications. If there are any. He's drunk, he won't remember. "It never lasts long."

He lets his head fall forward, and he regards me. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"Everything."

"What do you mean?"

He shakes his head. Then with his free hand, he brushes a stray hair away from my face. His skin is warm against mine.

"Thank you," he whispers, then lets himself lean completely forward and press his lips to my cheek.

It's soft, barely a kiss, but I feel it everywhere.

"Um, no problem?"

He's not listening. His lips touch my other cheek, warm and soft and caressing.

He pulls away. "I'll walk you back."
***
(baby we're the New Romantics.... the best people in life are free)

Ooo, and it's also not what you think. They're not like going to get married tomorrow, neither of them are romantics yet (that we know of) and yeah.