“I went to the library to meet Conin for book club, but he never showed. I thought I’d come to check if everything was alright.”
My heart deflates. Embarrassingly, I had hoped he had come to see me.
“He had to pick up a shift,” I say.
“Oh, well. Fancy seeing you here.”
It picks back up, performing somersaults upon somersaults. A quick beat of silence. Then, “Play me something,” Atlas demands.
“I—” don’t want to.
“Please! I won’t judge. I promise. I just want to hear your prowess.”
For fuck’s sake.
“Fine.”
With the violin back in my clutches, the rest cups my chin, and then the bow finds my fingers. I hold the horsehair near the frog for longer than necessary. Atlas watches with patience, eyes lit with childlike enthusiasm. He awaits the performance of a lifetime, and I fear I’ll subvert his expectations. Burn them to the fucking ground. It’s not a big deal. I take steady breaths. He waits, smiling, patient, attentive. I stroke the bow down and the beginning notes of John Williams’ “Across the Stars” resonate through the tiny apartment. Atlas’s smile could brighten the world.
The prelude swells into the dramatic chorus. I cast a brief, wary glance at Atlas, whose eyes are wide with wonder, mouth agape. Jolts of pleasure shoot up my spine, striking my heart in its epicenter. The surge to play more powerfully, to show Atlas everything I have overcomes me. I use our tether to hold on to him, making it impossible for him to let go. Every ounce of energy is put into the vibrato when the outro arrives, echoing far after I’ve concluded the piece. He stares in awe. My heart pounds frivolously against my chest, threatening to break through blood and bone, muscle and sinew. The butterflies are out of control.
“Wow,” he mutters. He’s breathless. I have that effect on him.Me.
“So?” I question and look at him without looking at him.
Wowcould mean anything.
“You memorized it?” he chokes on his words.
“Yeah.”
“Of course you did.”
Atlas stands. There’s a slight tremor in his knees.
“Was that for me?” he asks, but I can barely hear him.
“Yes,” I say.
And it’s the truth.
The press of his lips is soft against mine.
Fireworks erupt from our bated breaths.
He grips the bridge of the violin and pulls it from my grasp. There’s no space between us, but he parts his mouth, searches deep into my eyes. It’s agonizing. My lips open in expectation. I don’t object, I only stare, only wait for him to kiss me again. And he does. It’s wonderful, otherworldly, perfect.
A wave of panic crashes over me.
Atlas breaks away quickly. Horror laces his expression and the wide curvature of his eyes. My heart’s descent causes whiplash as it drops deep into the earth.
“Oh my god,” he whispers.
“Atlas—”
“Oh my god,” he says again, “what the hell have I done?”
“I kissed you back,” I say, uselessly.
