I shrugged, enacting disinterest. “Just some girls from work.”
“I see,” he murmured, and with a gentleness that caught me off guard, he asked, “Did it hurt you that they said that?”
Grimacing, I ran my fingers over my forehead. It was damp. I felt hot, melting, the few sips of wine I’d had roiling in my blood. “No, not really,” I admitted. “Do you think that makes me a bad person? Am I, I don’t know, disconnected?”
In his usual, unwavering certainty, Kai shook his head. “Of course you’re not disconnected. People just communicate in different ways. Someone might tell you, ‘I think you’re a cold person,’ and actually mean, ‘I want to be your friend, but I’m afraid you’re disapproving of me.’ You know, not everyone understands solitude. The kind of strength and integrity it requires.”
Hearing him say this, in that low, plaintive tone, made me wonder if Kai felt like he had to sacrifice certain parts of himself in order to be accepted by as many people as he did, that he had to compromise his personal beliefs and therefore his moral integrity in order to be liked.
But weren’t we all doing this in one way or another? Weren’t we all constantly reshaping ourselves to form connections, slipping into our chosen identities, and sharing only what we deemed acceptable enough to share? And if that was true, didn’t that also mean we had no original version of ourselves? That we were all just mirrors of each other?
Questioningly, I met his dark gaze. “Why did you call me tonight, Kai?”
“I’m not sure,” he said, releasing a long, shaky breath. “Maybe because today you looked like you needed someone to ask if you’re okay. And I guess I wanted to be that someone.”
It all came down to that, didn’t it? Connection. Our collective responsibility to care for our fellow human. Because we really were mirrors. Because one’s reflection could not exist without the other’s.
How lucky I was to live in a world where I could be seen and understood like that, even if it was only by one person? This person, him. Lucky, yes. So what did it matter if I was missing a few words? Why was I wasting my time and energy trying to comprehend things that perhaps were not meant for me to comprehend? Why was it so hard for me to surrender, to acquiesce to the life I was given?
Kai, unbeknownst to my conflict, let out a contented sigh. “I like this.”
“What?”
“This,” he said with a small, meaningful smile.
Influenced, like a tide with its moon, I felt myself smile back. “Let’s do it again some time.”
“Let’s keep doing it right now,” he countered, walking backwards toward the trashcan by the entrance to dispose of his cigarette. By the time he returned, a fresh one was hanging from the corner of his mouth.
“Give me one?” I asked, and he offered me his last one. He only had one match left as well, and during its small journey from my cigarette to his, the little flame gave out.
“Fuck,” he muttered between his teeth. “Come here.”
Slipping a hand over the nape of my neck, he pulled me close so he could press the smoldering end of my cigarette to his. His hand was surprisingly strong. His eyes were onyx-black and depthless. Neither of us looked away, and a sort of wanting stirred in me. Something that ticked and pulsed. Like a heart. Like a hunger.
When a curl of smoke wafted up from his cigarette, he released me from his hold and drew back a little, exhaling. I stayed as I was, keeping the smoke in the back of my throat, for I knew that this was the taste of his mouth now.
“What flavor is this?” I asked, my voice lower, softer than I meant it. “Is it cherry?”
He nodded, his gaze riveted on mine. “I like that they’re sweet. But I can run downstairs and get you another pack if it’s not to your liking.”
I raised the cigarette to my lips again. “No, it’s growing on me.”
We smoked in companionable silence for a while, standing right next to each other, our elbows on the railing. The world below seemed to grow still and quiet, and my mind, as if caught in a groove, returned to that word and this drowning feeling of ignorance.
“Why do you think I was not provided with it?” I asked him. “Nostalgia.”
Moonlit and vague as an apparition, he mused, “Words come to us when we need them. That’s why they affect us so much, I think. They always come at the right time, and they always stay. Every tangible thing you own will disappear. But the words you know will stay with you forever. And maybe…” Very softly, he smiled to himself. “I don’t know. Maybe it was meant to be the thing that would bring you here tonight.”
Helplessly, I laughed. “You’re a very romantic person, Kai.”
Again he turned his body toward mine, his cigarette drawn downward, forgotten already. “Am I?”
“I think you are,” I said. “Unless you’re pretending to be. Unless you’re trying to make me fall in love with you or something.”
“Ah,” he sighed. “And we don’t want that, do we?”
Slowly, I passed my fingers over the spot he had touched on my nape just a moment ago. He followed the movement with his eyes, his lips parting in understanding.Don’t make it so obvious, I implored myself. But it was hopeless. I knew my body was telling him everything I didn’t want him to know.
