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Jonathan could barely think as Naomi pushed him on stage. His white button-down, which was not his costume, was two buttons undone as the curtains parted. The crowd roared as the half-undone button slipped off. Jonathan had always been confident in his physique- he was a model, kind of part of the job. The adrenaline ran wild in his veins, igniting drive in his heart. The music blared, and he tried to focus on the rhythm.
T'es la meilleure chose qui m'est arrivée
Mais aussi la pire chose qui m'est arrivée
Ce jour où je t'ai rencontrée, j'aurais peut-être préféré
Que ce jour soit jamais arrivé
Jonathan closed his eyes, feeling the memories fly back to him. His words left his mouth, and his thoughts left his head. People cheered—he could hear it—they waved and screamed, confidence flowing through his veins. He turned to the side, and Gwen waited in the wings. He wasn’t entirely sure of the whole ordeal. She taught him the song and helped with the choreography, but helping was much different from performing. The night breeze was cold against his chest, the music ran through his body. His heart ached to think about Fiona, backstage, unconscious and possibly in danger, but his mind refused to let him focus on it. His gaze couldn’t leave Gwen’s form. She was less curvy than Fiona, and her wrist bone was visible. She turned, and her scapula was prominent like wings. Gwen looked a bit like an angel, he thought, but he didn’t dwell as the crowd roared.
La pire des bénédictions
La plus belle des malédictions
De toi, j'devrais m'éloigner
Mais comme dit le dicton
"Plutôt qu'être seul, mieux vaut être mal accompagné"
His chest pounded, his body felt unreal, and everything felt like a fever dream. His eyes drifted again to the wings, and Gwen’s violet eyes pierced his soul; the silver chain on her neck gently glimmered from the light that didn’t quite hit her figure. The dress that was a tad too tight on Fiona’s curves fit perfectly, and the gold bands used as anklets were a fine touch. He had to turn away, he was drifting into these thoughts. He tore his eyes away and watched the neon lightsticks start to rise. This was good; he was distracted and therefore did not think about everything going wrong. All his friends were here to cheer him on, and he thought he could faintly see Bea and Denver in the audience. He knew Bea would be smiling and Denver would watch with his stoic expression. Everything was okay, Jonathan said to himself, but his heart ached as Gwen stepped out from the wings.
Tu sais c'qu'on dit
He didn’t expect Gwen’s voice to be so smooth. He didn’t expect their voices to meld in harmony, the sound too heavenly for someone he’d known but never noticed. Gwen didn’t seem like herself. Her tired voice was gone, replaced with a velvet heaven that felt lustrous like silk and satin, sweetly soothing his mind. Her violet eyes were sharp with intent, shimmering with something Jonathan couldn’t quite understand. The darkness and stage lights blinked over her, shrouding her in darkness for seconds, and then the light illuminated her figure. His grandmother would yell at him for false idolatry, but by God, she looked divine.
"Soit près d'tes amis les plus chers"
If his breath hitched here, it was game over, he thought. It wasn’t like Gwen completely changed. She wore some makeup, wore contacts, and slightly changed her hair. Maybe it was the white dress— it made Fiona look cute, it looked like Gwen was a siren, an angel, or it was his head spinning and warping his perception but she seemed so… alluring. Her eyes were bright, and he swore her soul was bare in those violet irises, something so serene but odd. His arm almost went up to reach out and examine her under the spotlights.
Mais aussi
Jonathan felt a strange serenity at the sound of their harmony and the blinking lights returning. His heart dropped when he heard her voice alone. The choreography was planned; it wasn’t intense, but his heart pounded in his chest as Gwen walked his way instead of Fiona. She walked without hesitation, almost rushed, nonchalant, and clear in her eyes. He wondered if she could feel the way his mind reeled when she looked his way. It felt like her gaze would make his heart beat out of his chest. Even the most petulant child, a blind man could feel her beauty emanating from her form, simply too much to ignore.
"Encore plus près d'tes adversaires"
He didn’t have a moment to think until the chorus returned, throwing him back to performing. He took Gwen’s hand, spinning her as she returned to being at the mercy of his arms, her waist supported by his hand. He swore he must’ve died because there was nothing mortal, nothing flawed with the way she fit in his arms. Her flesh leaned into his strong arms, and he kept his touch gentle but firm. His hands ached for the feel of her skin as she twirled in and out of his grasp. She fell back on him, the thud was softer than when Fiona practised with him. The sound of a thousand people couldn’t pull his gaze away. She was the stars and they were the city lights who tried to imitate her grace.
Mais ma meilleure ennemie, c'est toi
Fuis-moi, le pire, c'est toi et moi
Jonathan’s heart was racing, his face flushed warmly like sunlight shining on his skin, and the adrenaline felt like horses were rushing through his veins. Gwen was below him now, and he needed to repeat to himself that everything would be okay, but the strangest thing was that nothing told him that it felt wrong in the first place. The way she brushed over his skin, the gentle linger of her fingers—it thrilled him.
Mais si tu cherches encore ma voix
Oublie-moi, le pire, c'est toi et moi
This was all planned and practised, this was the choreography, but Jonathan’s heart pounded on his chest, and his arms felt weak when around Gwen’s waist—God, this was supposed to be Fiona, but he didn’t feel this way when it was Fiona in his arms. Gwen threw him off. Her smooth skin and her deep violet eyes, the way she looked like a fae when her dress twirled. The way her hand found his cheek and her thumb slowly caressed it, her voice hit Jonathan like silk-smooth and lustrous. He moved as her verse began, standing behind her, shrouded in darkness, and the smell of her floral shampoo filled the air.
Pourquoi ton prénom me blesse
Quand il se cache juste là dans l'espace?
C'est quelle émotion, ta haine
Ou de la douceur
Quand j'entends ton prénom
Gwen wasn’t sure what was happening. The lights were blinding, but she could see clearly, and it all felt feverish. She felt Jonathan’s hold on her shoulders. He was close to her ear, silent, just as he’d practised with Fiona. He was dark, just a silhouette towering over her, one arm over her chest. This was the choreography, but she felt his heart race, his warm hands and heavy breathing. Her eyes met his, and something tore apart in her heart; it didn’t hurt, but heat rushed through her veins. She wasn’t sure if her mind shut up or if it was thinking too fast for her to fully understand because something shook her, rendering her nearly breathless.
Je t'avais dit "ne regarde pas en arrière"
Le passé qui te suit, te fait la guerre
She put her hand over his, signalling Jonathan to spin her. His blue eyes shimmered like aquamarines, it was all too fast as her hair unravelled, the strands falling out of place. She almost cursed, but her mind forced her to keep quiet. Gwen’s world felt small, like it was just her and Jonathan, even though the irking thought of company lurked in her mind. Her breath hitched, but she remained calm and continued to harmonise with his voice.
Mais ma meilleure ennemie, c'est toi
Fuis-moi, le pire, c'est toi et moi
Jonathan could feel Gwen’s heart as it raced; his hand felt the pounding on her chest. Her breath was heavy and she nearly tripped as the next spin happened. Jonathan caught her wrist, her hand on his skin once again. He swore he could see the shock in her stoic eyes, flashing light on something he wasn’t sure of. His heart tugged its strings to pull away from her gaze and do the routine, but he was frozen in place, and it seemed that Gwen was too. Jonathan wondered if Gwen could feel his heartbeat; she must’ve–it felt like it was about to pour out.
Mais ma meilleure ennemie, c'est toi
Fuis-moi, le pire, c'est toi et moi
Gwen didn’t realise how close he was. Her mind screamed at her to pull away, throw a sarcastic comment out there, and do anything but watch as Jonathan was inches away, leaning down, holding her waist. Her chest flew up and down as she closed her eyes, the sounds of people overwhelming her, the music forcing itself down her throat, and then she felt something on her forehead, someone’s skin, something smelled of mint and she didn’t want confirmation, because there was only one person she knew that always kept a fresh breath. God, Jonathan was so obvious about liking Fiona because this was a detail she’d completely forgotten or never learned, but was it planned? Was it not? She heard the curtains close and the music end, and something in her shook the fog from her head, but she was trapped.
Jonathan didn’t know what got into him. His mind was reeling from everything that happened in the last three minutes, and he couldn’t quite process it all. The next thing he saw was Gwen looking right at him, her face stoic and her gaze reaching past him. She looked utterly unaffected, and Jonathan wondered how she could hold herself together. It was Gwen, though, nothing ever bothered her more than incompetence. He didn’t think he messed up miserably, but his heart screamed. He took a step to try to explain everything, but Gwen took a step back. Her voice was sharp as she avoided his gaze.
“I’m sorry, I just— what the hell?”
The next thing he knew, she was walking off, and the next performers were getting ready. He ran into the wings, and his head spun. The next thing he saw was Naomi walking his way. Her gold eyes were wide, and she rushed to grab his shoulders. She nearly shook him faster than his heart pounded on the stage. She dragged him down to her level, and her voice spilt out of her mouth.
“Dude, what was that?”
In truth, Jonathan didn’t know. But he knew that Gwen didn’t either, and the thought of Fiona made his stomach drop. Wait, when did Naomi have purple eyes? No, Gwen had purple eyes. His eyes blurred violet from gold now? The air was tight in his lungs, and the deeper his breath, the less he could focus. His knees went weak, and the next thing he knew, his vision began to fall.
.
.
.
“Gwen!”
He wasn’t in the wings anymore. Alec towered over him, and Jonathan’s breath returned. The familiar smell of his sheets slowed his heart, and he felt his face cool. Alec’s blue eyes were wide with concern and shock, leaving Jonathan uneasy. Neither wanted to say anything, but music blared in Jonathan’s head, and the stage lights blinded his mind’s eye even though he was far away from it all. Footsteps approached his ears, and someone walked in. It took a minute for Jonathan to orient himself. Naomi stood in the doorway and narrowed her gold eyes. Her voice was coated in something sharp, and she seethed as she took a deep breath.
“Sorry, she’s not here right now.”
She closed the door behind her and sat by his bedside. Her gold eyes glared into his soul and forced him to face her. Jonathan couldn’t move, try as he might. He didn’t say anything. Alec stepped away, and Naomi sighed. Jonathan’s face went hot, and a pit in his stomach pulled his heart down. He didn’t want to hear anything, and his world began to fall apart, and suddenly, all the memories were too vibrant in his head. He tried to think about something else, something to ground him just long enough to hold himself together as Naomi spoke, but Jonathan could feel the sharpness in her words. His breathing slowed as all his nervous energy switched to dread.
“Listen. Fiona’s finally coming around, and I thought you’d be thrilled. She talked about you, about your dance, and she seemed happy. She was finally getting over stupid Sven Gwon, and now this? Gwen won’t talk to anyone about it, and she’s shut herself in her room.”
Jonathan couldn’t reply; he didn’t want to think about this. He was good at taking responsibility and facing the consequences of his actions, but this, Gwen, the dance, pushed all the wrong buttons. His chest shook, and he half expected to combust or explode on the spot. Naomi’s gold gaze flickered into shades of violet, aubergine, and everything that didn’t make sense. He swore he could hear the voices in his head, a melody too sweet for him, and his heart ached. Heavy breathing played in his ear, and his breath hitched. His face turned pink, and his mind went to the touch of smooth skin, something entirely too vivid and graphic for him. Jonathan held his head and coughed, his throat suddenly too dry to even think about responding to Naomi. Her gold eyes widened, and a small gasp left her lips.
“Jonathan. Gosh. Alec, something’s wrong with him.”
Jonathan’s heart was racing, a deep violet abyss swallowed him in, and he felt his veins run hot. He touched the spot on his chest, where the bare skin remained, the memories of a faint touch still there. He looked at his palm, his hand, all the lines. His vision flickered. He swore he was holding something for a minute, but he adjusted his grip, and only air kept his hands and fingers apart. He didn’t have much time to think as Alec came rushing back into the room.
“Jonathan,” Alec shook him. “You’re burning up.”
“No, no, I’m not.”
Jonathan’s steady and sweet voice shook, eyes completely bare and blank. Naomi was still there, her brow furrowed with concern and confusion. Jonathan looked at his hands again, his head still spinning in circles, and the world felt foreign to him, but something plagued his mind, and it told him exactly what it was. He knew what it was, he knew exactly—but whether he let himself accept it was completely different. His vision stabilised, and his shaking ceased. His voice was softer this time, something Naomi and Alec could hear, but soft enough for him to calm the rush of hot blood through his body.