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It took us some time to realize that there was something else there. Which is silly in hindsight, the writing had been on, well, us. The whole time.
I remember noticing that tingle, kind of at the back of my neck, when he was talking.
I had just come out of another relationship that had ended pretty badly. I wanted a break. But there were these feelings I could not deny.
He was like the sun, and I a planet, pulled into that shining orbit.
There wasn’t any fighting it.
Cog, we were idiots.
It was there the whole time. The text etched into the very center of my being. The serial stamp that would link me to another, engineered for a perfect bond.
But I’d heard those words so many times before, been burned so frequently by getting my hopes up on a false lead, that I decided to just start ignoring it.
Ignoring it was easier said than done, though.
It never stops hurting when the first thing someone says to me is, “You’re on fire!”
I know they mean no harm. But it was a constant reminder that not only was I unable to truly find my soulmate, or at least that’s how it felt, but also that I was a hazard. Built to destroy, to cause chaos, to burn.
There is beauty in demolition. It is rare to find a sight more beautiful than acres of burning forest after all.
But I know I’m rather alone in this assessment of fire. Most see it and think of pain, of melting and ultimately death.
We are not built to be ignited. The oil that runs through us is flammable after all. Yet, here I am, constantly emitting those yellow fingers and lashing out to those whom I should support.
It’s hard to find help. My reputation proceeds me.
“You’re on fire!”
Again.
I sighed, muttering “I know. It is part of my function and I do not require repairs.”
“Well, I hope not. It looks super cool.” The smaller Suit stopped in front of me, crisp purple jacket obviously fresh from the factory. A new hire, someone who didn’t know of the danger this proximity created.
The compliment was still unexpected. I wasn’t quite sure how to react.
“By the way, I’m Graham Ness Payser, though you probably already know me from my albums and just didn’t connect the dots since I’m so much more stunning in the synthetic flesh.” A hand extended.
Did he know that contact could melt the delicate rubber gaskets within his joints, ruining those nimble digits.
I declined to return the gesture, although rude this was the kinder response.
He awkwardly transitioned into stroking his own hair, “Uh, not a big talker I take it?”
“No, not particularly. You should leave me alone.”
Alone was for the best. These streets were cold enough to keep me from overheating, and the stone and steel construction was mostly fireproof. However, the danger to others was still a constant reality.
“Wait. Don’t tell me you don’t know my music!”
I did not, “I have very specific tastes.”
Why was I entertaining this conversation? I started to walk in the other direction, but this persistent little Sellbot just would not quit. The employee handbook had warned me about this type of Suit, the most delicate and flimsy in construction. The easiest type to combust. This is why I tried to stick with Boss, Board, and Lawbots, somewhat sturdier than our lower quality counterparts in the Cash and Sellbot departments.
“We’ll see about that. Here. Take this.” He reached into his suit jacket and produced a CD in a paper sleeve, obviously homemade, “You’re going to love it.”
Judging by the glitter on the cover, I didn’t agree with that assessment. My type of music tended to have skulls, lighting, and demons featured in the art, not purple sparkles.
“No, thanks.”
Somehow, that didn’t put a dent in this guy’s smile, “Oooh I see, you’re not sure how you’re going to keep it safe during your shift! You’re a thoughtful guy! I like that. Tell you what, I’ll come back here at 5 when the shift changes and we can go somewhere to listen together! Maybe at that pizza place up the way.”
Again, I declined, “I’m busy.”
“Alright, fine Mr. Important, we’ll give this a rain check and I’ll see ya around!”
As fast as he’d stumbled into my way, he raced right back out and, truly, I didn’t think about him again for the whole evening. It was a fluke, one of dozens. Yet, in his absence, I ran my hands across my chest, as if I could feel the engraving inside of my plates.
This was nothing. A fluke. It was always a fluke.
And so, I carried on. Finished my work, had my evening meal of oil, fuel, and coal, and settled in for a night of catching up on paperwork. Just because I was off the beat didn’t mean I’d completed all my assigned duties after all.
I had always assumed my soulmate would know me, that’s what made the most sense after all.
Oh how I’d fantasized about them discovering my music, or stumbling into a show, and being absolutely entranced, and when I’d say ‘I’m great, aren’t I?’ they’d respond with those two magic words.
I know. Because of course they knew!
But, as the years went by, and as my music career somehow failed to launch into the stratosphere as I had hoped, I suppose I started to accept a little bit of reality. Maybe I was just ahead of my time, and in the future Suits would look back on my recordings and realize what fools they’d been to ignore these dynamite tracks!
So, I’d first taken a part-time gig at a delivery company, just something to help me pay for rent and repairs as I kept plugging away on his albums and hitting every open mic night in town. Then, I found myself applying for better paying positions, wanting some more cash flow due to being sick of secondhand parts and crummy accommodations. I figured once I was established financially, I could return to my passion.
Deep down inside, though, I knew what Suit life was like. I’d seen what had happened with all my siblings and cousins. One day you grow up and never turn back. Juvenile interests and hobbies abandoned for the workplace.
The music thing was putting off the inevitable. Once I signed that contract with C.O.G.S., Inc. that part of my life was over, at least in as great a capacity as it had once been central to my existence.
For some reason, I found that I liked it. It was like I was built for this corporate grind. And being able to get some energy out fighting the annoyance known as Toons helped, too. Kept things interesting, let me really hone my skills.
I also had an entirely new pool of Suits to introduce myself to. Network with, make good impressions, all that stuff. Invigorated, I spent a week preparing dozens of tapes to pass out, a collection of the songs I was most proud of.
Most Suits declined. Some accepted it and I’d find it back in my mailbox a day or two later with a note stating the sounds were ‘satisfactory’ or ‘acceptable’ or any other noncommittal comment. I suppose I was still waiting for my big break. There was Dave, of course, one of the rare Suits who’d made it as an entertainer. But I was waiting to get a bit more of a following before approaching the big man at the top of his game.
Honestly, I wasn’t sure I could handle rejection at that level.
Besides, there was also the issue of recognition.
I’d not yet found someone who knew me on sight, but I’d hold out hope.
So, when I took a detour through the more icy part of town and laid eyes on a rather hot (in more ways than one if you catch my drift) Suit, part of me hoped this would be the breakthrough. I’d already vetted most of the managers, and thankfully none of them had panned out.
I shuddered at the thought of being known by someone as lazy as Cathal or stuck up as Tawney. Bleh!
So, I approached this newcomer who I knew so little about.
“You’re on fire!” I shouted out, the first idea I had, smile wide and voice layered in a complimentary tone, hoping to grab his attention. It was probably a lame introduction, but I’d committed to the bit.
“I know.”
Oh. OH! Was this it? I could barely contain my excitement.
Then the smoking suit kept speaking, “It is part of my function and I do not require repairs.”
Damn. He sounded offended. Had the blunt compliment been a misstep? I frantically tried to backtrack, clarify his intent, “Well, I hope not. It looks super cool.”
I needed this to work out. If this guy was the one… Jackpot! Just by looks I could tell that he was not a snoozefest.
How long had it been since either of us talked? Crap, this silence was getting awkward fast. I saw the other Suit’s eyes start to wander. No. No! All eyes on me, big guy!
“By the way, I’m Graham Ness Payser, though you probably already know me from my albums and just didn’t connect the dots since I’m so much more stunning in the synthetic flesh.” I extended my hand, hoping to get a feel for this guy, literally. Contact would mean we’d officially, fully acquainted with each other, and that would be a successful first meeting of potential, possible soul mates. I beamed confidently, trying not to waver.
The other Suit just stared, taking a small step backwards.
I decided to just keep talking, “Uh, not a big talker I take it?”
Finally, the other Suit responded, “No, not particularly. You should leave me alone.”
I felt his inner gears seize for a moment. This must not be it, then. If we really were a match, the other guy would have known from my own words, and not be so damn confrontational about this meeting.
Either way, I was interested. I’d had alternative relations before, why stop now? So I decided to play coy, “Wait. Don’t tell me you don’t know my music!”
He shook his large, masked head, “I have very specific tastes.”
A tough customer! I had dealt with tougher, though.
“We’ll see about that. Here. Take this.” I offered a CD to him, “You’re going to love it.”
The Suit declined, “No, thank you.”
No biggie, I had been declined many, many times before. I had methods to deal with this, “Oooh I see, you’re not sure how you’re going to keep it safe during your shift! You’re a thoughtful guy! I like that. Tell you what, I’ll come back here at 5 when the shift changes and we can go somewhere to listen together! Maybe at that pizza place up the way.”
A blunt reply, “I’m busy.”
I rolled my eyes behind my glasses, “Alright, fine Mr. Important, we’ll give this a rain check and I’ll see ya around!”
I’d be back tomorrow, and the next day, and the day after that. No one denied Graham Ness Paycer what he wanted.
“Again?” Graham had been pestering me for a week now.
“You bet your bolts! It’s a Friday, which means you’ve got to be free tonight. I’m not taking no for an answer. Your place, mine, a dumpster, I don’t care!”
“A dumpster? Really?” I responded, past the point of annoyance and now simply amused. Part of me just wanted to hide, but another was starting to enjoy what ultimately amounted to positive attention, even if this guy was just trying to promote himself. Or was he?
It had been two days since he last mentioned his music, now it seemed he just wanted time with me regardless. How strange. If that really was the case…
He continued, voice a higher pitch than most masculine Suits preferred to program into themselves, “If that’s what you’d prefer, then sure! You could start a whole dumpster fire if you’d like. It might reek but would look pretty cool.”
“How’d you know I like dumpster fires?”
Graham took his chance and moved in closer, “I noticed a lot of the ones around here are a little ashy. You must have some crazy fun on your midday breaks, huh?”
I chuckled, “Maybe. But maybe we don’t do that just yet. Save it for some time special.”
Talking to Graham was easy, the guy was so forward and blunt that I didn’t feel like I had to walk on glass around the guy. Now, I didn’t love these impromptu meetings, they did distract me from my work and on Tuesday it had caused me to miss some Toons sneaking into an office building (which led to a rather displeased memo from Mr. Oilcan), but they did have perks.
“Whatever you say, boss. So, pizza place. 5’o clock. Today.” Graham jammed a finger square into my chest, and I could have sworn a spark flew off that grey digit, “And you better not stand me up, mister. I will not be made to look like a fool.”
“Fine, it’s a date.” I flinched as soon as the words left my speaker, but I couldn’t take them back now.
Graham reacted… Strangely. He jolted, then looked up over the rims of his glasses. I realized this is the first time I’d ever seen his eyes, the optical sensors wide and expressive with a purple hue that matched the rest of his Suit, “A date… I see we’re on the same page, then.”
I took a big step back, shuffling my hands together nervously, an involuntary reaction, “W-what page?”
Graham chased right after me, “Tell me, what exactly does your serial stamp say?”
“That’s a very personal question!” I shot back. It was extremely taboo to just ask someone such a thing, especially in such a public place! I didn’t even stop to think that this confirmed my suspicion. I’d given up on finding my soulmate so easily so long ago. Hell, I didn’t even know my last partner’s serial print text. We’d never gotten that close; we’d known from the onset that it would never work out. But we’d still gone for it, and just like all the others it ended in flames.
“Right. Well. I’ll see you later.”
Graham seemed like a decent Suit, if persistent. I didn’t want to burn him. But I was also already in too deep. I supposed I owed him this ‘date’ and if things didn’t go well, I’d write him off and push him out.
“Flint! Wait!” I called out, chasing the slower Suit down the street.
He turned around, perplexed, “Huh?”
“I forgot to give you this!” Once again, I offered the CD.
Flint’s expression became unreadable. Was he disappointed?
“You don’t have to take it! But I figured since things went so well, maybe you’d want to give it a shot?” I hated how uncertain I sounded. My vast amount of confidence crushed by a single upset look from Flint.
“Oh, uh. Alright.” Flint hesitantly plucked the CD case from my hands. I’d replaced the paper cover with a metal sleeve, realizing early on that he didn’t accept the first time due to likely igniting the thing on contact, which had obviously been why he declined. Now there was no excuse.
“By the way, I had a great time tonight.” I added, not quite ready for this moment to end. The meal had gone spectacularly.
At first, Flint had been a little anxious, but once he’d come out of his shell, he was a real charmer, and a good listener which is pretty damn important for a guy like me who will chat all night long given the opportunity.
We’d mostly talked company drama, keeping things impersonal, but it still had been a blast. Dude was like a directory of little secrets, oh the black mail he could make. However, his intentions were honest enough, he was just in the rumor mill for the fun of it.
“Yeah, it was nice.” Flint replied, “And, before someone gets burned, I’m going to ask you a personal question.”
“Shoot!”
“Uh, all this wasn’t just for networking, was it? I’m probably not going to listen to this for a while… So, if that was the point…” He waved the CD around like it was diseased.
Oh. I see.
Might as well come clean, “Maybe that was my original intent, partially at least, but getting to know you has been the real benefit. And I hope you feel the same about getting to know me.” I responded, surprising myself with such vulnerability.
I’m wearing my heart on my sleeve here, dude!
“Ah.” Flint shuffled his feet.
“Look, if you don’t want the CD I’ll take it back.” I covered, “I’m sure someone else wants it.”
Surprisingly, Flint dug his heels in, tucking the album in his coat pocket, “Nope, it’s mine now. And if it stinks, you’ll be getting a scathing review… Later. But it’s probably fine. I don’t know. I have very specific tastes. So, it’ll probably just stink to me. But don’t take it personally!”
“Whoa there, big guy! You haven’t even listened to it yet, so how do you know? Maybe I make the exact kind of music you like!”
Flint seemed to study me for a moment, “Maybe. Sorry if that was harsh-“
I interrupted before he could talk himself further into that hole, “It’s fine, I value any feedback I can get, and you have the right to give it back if you don’t like it, you know? I make my music for me, and of course I’d love to have a million billion fans and be a big star, but I’m not going to change anything just based on some random guy’s scathing review.”
I then realized I’d instead buried myself in there with him. He was far from random, but I couldn’t just take that back.
Flint stiffened, “Alright. I probably won’t even bother you with my thoughts, then.”
“Fine, I hate when people waste my time.” I shrugged noncommittally.
“Good, I won’t waste mine either.”
For a few seconds, we just stared at each other. Then, we parted ways without another word. I figured Flint would just toss the CD in some pile and never think about it again. Probably for the best, what are the odds he likes rock, anyways?
It was a week before I got around to listening to the CD.
At first, I threw it in my junk drawer like I had a grudge against it. I supposed I did. But then, when Graham invited me out again the next Friday, I decided I should probably at least listen to the first song before meeting back up.
Frankly, after our harsh parting of ways, I’m surprised that he wanted to see me again. Sure, the conversation over the meal had been pleasant but I doubted that I’d made much of an impression. By Wednesday, I’d nearly forgotten about him, assuming I’d been too hard and scared him off.
It was a good thing I’d not gotten attached. That had been an important skill to learn after so much heartbreak.
So, it was just after 5 o’clock and I slid the CD into my sound system, volume turned low in the event that it was some electronic crap that only served to pain my auditory sensors.
Shockingly, the first sound to emit was the pluck of a guitar string. Then there were drums, and an acceptably interesting bass line.
No way.
I had assumed that Graham had been some amateur DJ, a guy who dragged and dropped sounds together on a computer, engineered for a night club.
But, as the first verse kicked in, pitchy raw vocals joining the soundtrack, I realized that this was in fact a rock album and became very interested as I cranked the volume. Looking at the hilariously fireproofed CD sleeve, I read the engraved name of this track, ‘All Eyes On Me’.
Yeah, that checked out. Also, I realized all the effort Graham had gone through to make this for me. And I’d been so unappreciative when he’d given it to me, thinking I’d just been used in his marketing scheme. Wining and dining wasn’t uncommon for a Sellbot, or any Suit, to meet their quota.
But this wasn’t corporate jingles, this was bonified, unprofitable, genuine music. Music with real, if roughly played outside of the lead and rhythm guitars, instruments. I winced a bit as the bassline faltered, whoever was playing could use a few lessons. I considered that it was probably Graham, and I got an idea…
“So let me get this straight, you want to help me re-record my music?”
Flint nodded, “It has potential, but you need a real band backing you. I can help.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. I should be insulted, I worked hard to record those tracks! Yet, I was mostly just surprised by the offer, “Wait, does this mean you liked my songs?”
“I suppose it does, the concept behind them at least. Needs more polish before I could endorse them, however.”
Folding my arms, I leaned back in the booth, “Sure, sure. You some master musician or something?”
Flint blushed, adorably might I add, “N-no! But I can hold a rhythm.”
What did I have to lose, “Alright, you’re in luck then because auditions are at my place, tonight. Right now, actually. Let’s go.”
“But we’ve not eaten yet.” Flint protested, voice soft.
“We’ll get take out, come on!”
“Well, I need my bass.”
“Fine! You go get that, I’ll get food, and we meet up at the Pace Place ASAP. Deal?”
Flint nodded, “Ok.”
Then, a few minutes later we reconvened over two hot pizza boxes, munching as we tuned our guitars. I fiddled with the F-string, for whatever reason I couldn’t get it right. All the other strings had behaved wonderfully! Why was this one being such a nuisance?
Frustrated, I threw the guitar across the room, “Hunk of junk!”
Flint jumped at the crash, “Wah!”
I got up to chase after it and assess the damage. The neck had snapped, so I added it to the pile of other destroyed guitars and opened the closet, picking a replacement at random from dozens of identical instruments.
“What was that for?” Flint asked.
“It was being fussy. These things are so poorly made that I have to go through a bunch to find one decent one, and even then, it wears out fast. Shame on me for thinking this company could manufacture a single quality product, but my old one was worse.” I explained.
“I see. My bass was a gift from my aunt when I was in college, and I’ve tried to keep it in good shape. I think she paid a lot of money for it, it’s from a good brand.” Flint replied.
I raced over to inspect the orange instrument, and Flint was right; it was a very expensive model, “Neat. My family never really paid much attention to me. Product of having 99 siblings I guess, get lost in the shuffle if you aren’t the golden child. I don’t know why I just said that. Sorry to be a downer.” Why was I suddenly so comfortable? I never said this crap to anyone! And I doubted Flint cared, anyways.
“Oh. It’s alright, I’m the one who brought up family. We can talk about something else.”
I happily accepted the opportunity to change the subject, “Great! Did you have a song in particular you wanted to play for me first?”
“I’d need time to learn any of yours, but I can play something else if you just want to hear me play.”
I hopped up on the counter next to the pizzas, “Dazzle me! This is an audition, remember?”
Flint plugged into an amp and stood up, and the colorful pin on his guitar strap did not escape my gaze. Good, we played on the same team.
Then, he started to play, and completely stole my attention away from the pizza, and everything else really. The whole world became his playing, my eyes on his fingers, ears tuned in to the sounds he was producing. It was over far too quickly, which is saying a lot with my attention span factored in, and then he looked up at me for validation.
“Not bad.” It had been spectacular, “I think we can make something work,” I needed this genius on all my tracks immediately.
“Oh, thanks. I have a hard time writing my own stuff, so this could be fun.”
This was going to be so much fun it should be illegal.
We played all night, spending hours first learning the tabs for All Eyes On Me, then working in a small solo where our guitar and bass dueled together, so I suppose it was more of a duet. I’d never played with anyone so passionate about their music, so this was really quite special.
We weren’t quite ready to re-record, but we’d made some good progress, and once the pizza was ice cold and the clock was striking 3, as much fun as this was, it was time to call it a night. Internally, my battery was starting to run quite low, and I didn’t want to half-ass this creative process.
Graham seemed to be running out of steam too. As much as he denied it I caught him yawning twice in the past half hour.
I shrugged off my guitar strap as we finished a run through of the duet, “Alright, I think it’s time to call this session done.”
“Oh come on! We’re just getting started! I’ve got like, four more forms I want to try!” Graham protested.
“You can keep practicing, but I’m going home.” I asserted, attempting to activate my propellor.
Instead, an error message played across my visor. My battery was too low to power it, had I really lost track of time that badly?
“You ok over there?” Graham asked.
“Battery too low to fly. Mind if I bum a partial charge, then I’ll be on my way.”
Graham came to stand beside me, “Nah, you can stay the night, I’ve got a guest room.”
“Really?”
“Sure, why not. Unless you want to walk home, which would be super lame.”
It was true that I did not want to walk home, “Fine, show me the guest room.”
As Graham led me upstairs, this suddenly started to feel very personal. It’s not like he was taking me to his bedroom, but it was a lot for a guy I barely knew.
“Is it fireproofed?” I blurted out, remembering that I was likely to cause property damage to his suite. I’d never spent the night away from home, where I had access to a custom charging station and steel walls.
Graham turned around at the top of the steps, the extra height putting him on eye level with me, “Hmm… Maybe? Guess we’ll find out!”
As he opened the door to the guest room, the answer was immediately apparent. There was sheet music everywhere, and tons of books and records and all kinds of flammable things. The charging station was crammed in the corner beside a fabric sofa, and much of the furnishings looked like they could melt.
“I don’t think this is going to work…”
“Yeah, ok. But we can make something work… Here I have an idea!”
The next thing I knew, I was helping Graham haul the charging station into… His bathroom. Passing through the master bedroom, I couldn’t help but notice shag carpet, animal print satin sheets, and a disco ball.
It was extremely hard to keep my fire down in a veritable love den. Oh Cog, there were toys on the dresser…
Meanwhile, the bathroom was all marble tile and metal fixtures. Graham threw a fluffy purple robe out into the bedroom, along with some monogramed towels, “There we go! And the door locks from the inside, for your privacy. Do you need a blanket or anything?”
“Alright, and no I’ll be warm enough. T-thanks.” I stumbled over my words. This was too much, too intimate. His hand brushed against mine as we set down the charging station and as he bent down to plug it in, I couldn’t help but watch.
As soon as he was gone, I laid in the padded chamber and powered down, I could process all this chaos in the morning. When morning came, I didn’t know what to do. Should I try and sneak out? Knock on the door to make sure he was aware of my entry? Standing at the door, I started to panic.
Then, a knock came from the other side, “You can come in… I heard you wake up.”
Oh, phew. I unlocked the door and slid it open. Graham was standing on the other side, wearing a short sleeve button up tucked into black jeans. The shirt was pink with little black stars printed onto the fabric, and it was really cute.
It was a Saturday, so Managers got a few hours off as the bosses took the brunt from the Toons.
I felt seriously overdressed in my work suit, but it’s not like I’d packed spare clothes.
“So, I’ve already reheated the leftovers if you’re hungry, and I figured we could keep working on my music?” Graham propositioned.
That sounded like fun, but I seriously felt like I’d overstayed my welcome despite this. I also remembered that I had plans with Holly, “Sorry, but I need to head out. I can do Friday again next week, though?”
Graham didn’t seem too disappointed at least, “Sure thing, Flint! Have a good day, yeah?”
“Will do, and you too.”
Fridays are the best days, period.
It was the day that my work shift seemed to somehow pass even faster than usual, and the night was capped off by a very handsome man delivering some take out and helping me fine tune my music. We’d kept this up for about three months now, and we were about to start work on the final song on my album, Admit It.
The lyrics to this particular track were fairly pointed, and I was anxious to see if Flint picked up on it.
Admit it, you know.
The words across my panel, at the heart of my core.
You know them, admit it!
I know.
To anyone else, it was a cheeky dig at how taboo such things were, the entire song a back and forth of someone who knows, but the words are never said. Except they were. Right there. At the climax of the track.
Flint should know. I knew he knew. That’s what he’d said to me right out the gate. And while I wasn’t entirely convinced we were soulmates, I was pretty certain at this point. But I also knew I’d blown my chance to ask Flint outright, so hopefully running through these lyrics hundreds of times in the next couple of hours would be enough to make Flint realize what I was getting at.
He was so dense sometimes. That stubbornness was an asset, as Flint’s opinion was often the correct one, but it also was hindering something I desperately wanted to pursue.
About a month into this little dance of ours, I’d asked him straight up to be my boyfriend.
Flint had deflected, saying he really cherished our friendship and didn’t want to cause a burn out.
Under any other circumstances, I’d have accepted that. I’m not a complete jerk.
But, knowing what I knew, and the fact that he’d greeted me with my serial stamp…
He had to be the one, right? And that means that it would work out. Soulmates always worked out. It was a fact. The hard part was just finding your counterpart, as many Suits never did, and that was just life.
However, here I finally had my opportunity, and I did not want to waste it. And, well, in the event that Flint was right, and his serial stamp was something completely different than what I’d first said to him… Then we could remain good friends I supposed.
Friends who didn’t hold hands, or kiss, or share a charging bay…
Cog, he hoped they were soulmates. Flint was just too perfect for him not to be! Please, universe, let me have this one victory in my life. If this works out, I’ll never ask you for anything again, not fame or fortune, none of it!
So, when the elevator doors dinged, and Flint arrived wearing that red leather jacket I had gifted him for his build day that just made his shoulders look so damn good, I let myself get my hopes up.
So what if I got burned? I’d already undergone a very expensive and comprehensive fireproofing upgrade this week.
“Hey Flint! What did you get for us to chow down on tonight?” I asked, curiously eyeing the takeout bag he carried.
“Seafood, Mary recommended a new place so I wanted to give it a try. And don’t worry, I got some regular pasta if you don’t like it.” Flint placed the brown paper bag down on the counter and set the little containers up buffet style like he always did.
I set out some plates and silverware.
“Sounds good to me, Mary has good taste. Usually.” I shuddered at the memory of sushi. How anyone could eat raw fish, including eggs, was beyond me.
“Sorry again about sushi night… Never again.” Flint responded.
I shrugged, “It’s fine. Anyways this stuff smells divine! Let’s dig in!”
The food was indeed delightful, and as we ate, I broached the topic of tonight’s session, “So today we’ll tackle Admit It. Are you ready?”
Flint nodded as he chewed, or rather incinerated, his food.
I tapped my foot anxiously, raising an eyebrow, “That so? Any further comment for the press, Mr. Bonpyre?”
Flint swallowed, “Yeah, I like this one. I have a strange suggestion for it, though. And if you don’t like it, that’s ok, but… I think we should slow it down to a ballad.”
The statement came out quickly, but I caught every word.
The idea was insane, my music was meant to be snappy and intense after all, but before I blurted this out, I considered something.
If I was going to follow through on using this song as a confession… A ballad would make for a very romantic vehicle.
“Flint, you’re a genius! Let’s try it! Or rather, since it’s your idea, why don’t you show me?” I offered.
I only expected Flint to pluck out a slower tempo, set the tune, and then I’d join in, slotting lyrics in just so and so on.
However, Flint opened his guitar case to reveal that instead of his usual bass, he brought an acoustic guitar.
“Wait, all this time you could play that too?”
Flint chuckled, “I play a lot of instruments. Violin, oboe, bassoon…”
“Well then! All this time we could have had a violin track yet you’re revealing this at the 9th hour?”
Flint shied back, and I regretted my sharp rebuttal, “I’m kidding. You’ve been amazing, and honestly none of those instruments would have fit very well.”
“Right. If you don’t want me to use this, I can switch back to bass, and we can just scrap this whole idea. It was probably pretty silly, right?”
“No, no. Flint, I want to hear what you have to play. Please.”
His mask twisted into the sweetest, shy smile, “Alright, here I go…” I was absolutely melting. Metaphorically I mean, physically I was quite prepared to withstand any heat he had to offer.
He started out just by playing the introduction of the song, slowed down and more intricate, and it was beautiful. The chords to Admit It admittedly did scale down nicely to this pace.
Then, Flint started singing, and everything froze.
Sure, I’d heard him sing a bit, showing me different notes to hit in my vocals to better compliment a track, but I’d never heard him sing like this, like the sounds were coming from the very fire at his core, and it wasn’t just a single line, it was a whole song.
Admit it, you know.
The words across my panel, at the heart of my core.
You know them, admit it!
I know.
The song should have ended there, that was the last chorus, but instead of letting the final note ring out, Flint kept going. All I could do was stare, plate abandoned as I leaned in close, blocking out everything but Flint. It was like the first time all over again but multiplied by a thousand.
Yes, I’ve known, that you know, and I know.
I guess you could say I’m a hot and tragic mess.
But playing with you, I feel alive, and it’s time to admit it.
Inside this chest plate it reads that I’m on fire.
And I’m willing to put it all on the line to state that I know what’s on your core:
I know.
Flint didn’t have enough time to set the guitar down before I pounced, grabbing onto those silly little tubes on the side of his mask and pulling him into a kiss,
It was hot, heat like I’d never felt before, a more intense burn than a fresh weld, but I loved it. Cog bless fireproofing technology, or otherwise I’d be toast.
Flint’s hands wrapped around me, resting on my lower back as he held me there, pressed up against his instrument, and more importantly him.
“You’re on fire.” I whispered, pulling back just an inch.
“I know.” He replied.
We knew.