Work Text:
RACHEL
The lights flashed, alternating in bright primary colors around the otherwise dimly lit room. It was hazy, with the smoke from the weed Johnny stole from his older brother. Bodies were pressed flushed together, swaying as one complete unit. He stood in the center, a beer that had long since gone warm and flat clutched in his hand. He saw her, a flash of red amidst the black and gray. He knew her from school, a familiar face at the very least; someone comfortable. She held his hands; they danced together, separating themselves from the crowd. It was a nice feeling--bouncing to the beat pumping from the subwoofer pressed up against another body, feeling detached from the rest of the world for just a second.
Then it happened; her lips were pressed against his. It wasn’t surprising, of course, that’s what people do right? She didn’t know this, but it was his first kiss. He wondered if it was hers too, they were only fifteen after all. It was, well, exactly what he thought it would feel like, yet somehow completely different at the same time. It felt like another pair of lips on his -- an obvious thing, he supposed. Of course that’s what it feels like, right? Her lips were soft and warm, warmer than he expected. But, that’s it. What was the spark even supposed to feel like? He has always thought his heart would be beating faster, but it stayed thrumming slow and steady in his chest.
After a minute, she asked him if he wanted to get away from the crowd. He nodded, passively, and allowed her to drag him by the hand into the deserted hallway. She smiled at him. It was a sweet smile; her eyes eager and wide, gazing into his with a concentrative stare. She told him it was her first kiss, he told her it was his too. He smiled back at her. It was comforting to know, they’re both new at this, of course it’s not going to be the kiss of his dreams. She leaned in again, pulling him in so that her back was flush with the wall. He felt awkward, unsure what to do with his hands. He resolved to keep them frozen on her waist. He didn’t want to make her uncomfortable, of course. She had other ideas; her hands crept down his waist, to his hips, then came to a stop at his backside. That should feel good, right? He was a teenage boy after all, he should’ve been itching for this moment. He wasn’t ready for this, he decided. They would have years for this to happen, fifteen is probably too young anyway. He pulled away and told her he wasn’t ready to take things any further. She agreed.
She took his hand and pulled him back to the party. With a wink, she handed him a slip of paper scrawled with her number, and returned to her friends. He was lost once again to the sea of bodies, and he started to feel an unbearable sense of loneliness, as he felt himself disappearing to the anonymity of the dance floor. He pushed through the crowd once again and threw open the front door to finally feel the tingle of the cool night air. He took a breath in, and out. He ran away from the house, down the dark street, into the night.
DAVID
He feels the tingle of the cool night air again, the wind raising the hairs on his arms from the open car window. He feels the goosebumps spread to the rest of his body as he gazes over at the man sitting next to him. His heart rate quickens, and he makes a confession. It’s not too deep, it doesn’t say too much, yet in a way it says everything. He wants to lean over so badly, feeling an almost magnetic pull to this man. But he can’t do it. He makes a joke out of the man’s response, because he can, because it’s what he’s good at.
Then, something magical happens. The man is leaning in, and he swears he can hear his own heartbeat thrumming in his ears. He feels the warmth and softness of the other man’s lips, of course, but it’s more than that this time. It’s an intangible, indescribable feeling. His world seems to shift, align, and finally click into place. He was never a particularly spiritual man, but in that moment he swore that such a feeling could never be explained through the laws of the natural world.
The kiss is chaste, and the other man pulls back far too soon. He tries to find the words to explain what it felt like, but his mind goes blank. He decides that the best thing he can do is just be honest. So, he is. He thanks the man, an understatement, but the sincerest statement he can muster. All too soon, the goodnights are exchanged, and the man is gone. He grips the steering wheel and leans his forehead onto it. Before he knows it, he feels the hot sting of tears falling down his face. For the first time in a long time, he lets them fall. He takes one final glance to the door of Room 7, and pulls out of the parking lot.
He is speeding down the highway now. The car window is still open, so the wind blows relentlessly into his eyes; he can’t tell whether his eyes are watering because of the wind or if he’s still crying. Both, he supposes. He doesn’t even need to turn on the radio -- a symphony is already blasting inside of his head as his mind replays the events of the night. The digitized clock on the dashboard blinks 10:17 P.M. He looks down at it and laughs. He can hardly believe how much his life has turned upside-down for the better in just over two hours.
He knows he’ll have to turn back soon, but he’s okay with that. In fact, he’s excited for it, because this time the drive isn’t an escape; it’s a release, and a time to revel in the euphoria--the newfound excitement he has for the future, and all that life has to offer him. He takes a breath in, and out. Then, he turns the car around, heading back towards the fateful little town that changed his life.