“What’s wr—” I start to ask.
“I don’t want you like a friend.”
We stop moving, and at the same time, the music fades to silence.
Stars sparkle in my peripheral vision.How do I breathe again? How do I speak?
Phantom wants . . .me.
“Me either,” I admit in a small voice.
Phantom raises their face to meet mine. “You don’t?” they ask with wide eyes.
“No.” My voice breaks on the word. “I want... more.”
The hope in their expression makes me swoon; I want to give each and every part of myself to the brilliant, kind, courageous person in my arms.
“But I have to do something important first... before we can be,” I remind them aloud, using the words to also plead with my own insistent heart for patience.
The set of Phantom’s eyes tenses. “Right.”
They try to slip from my grasp, but I grip them tighter, refusing to be anywhere but here in their arms, at least for a little while longer. “Keep dancing with me,” I urge. “Please.”
Their gaze softens and they tangle their hands in the hair at the nape of my neck, pulling me to their chest before swaying to the melody of a new song as it drifts through the air around us. As we stay like that, holding onto each other for dear life, I have another epiphany.
There’s no distance here. Not like there is with Noah.
Sure, with him I’ve always been enough, but with Phantom, I’m somehowmore. Together,we’remore.
We understand each other in ways no one else even tries to. We eat, drink, and breathe art. It’s who we are, down to our very essence, and I guess, in a way, it makes sense why we’re the only ones who get it.
But it rocks me to my core—this connection we have. Because of Phantom, I’m able to see a whirlwind of colors I wasn’t even aware Icouldsee before.
I don’t think either of us realized how stressful it can be; being vulnerable in real life, off the canvas. No disguises, just us. Slowly showing each other the artist behind the masterpiece.
But now, I can’t help by wonder:What can I do for them? How can I inspire them? How can I make them feel safe and seen?
They’re one of the most genuine people I know, and yet still so guarded. Instead of darkness, as they’d like the world to believe, technicolor brushstrokes follow them wherever they go.
I was oblivious to how colorful the world could be, and how much my heart could feel. But then Phantom stepped in and fractured my reality. They told me they wanted to stay. They said they wanted to be more. And I’m thankful. But now I’m stuck because I don’t know how to repay them for all they’ve done, for everything they’ve taught me, about art and about myself.
Phantom’s murmur interrupts my thoughts, “I’m going to miss you over the break.”
I pull back just far enough to look up at them. Their blue and green is more vibrant than anything I’ve ever seen. If I could give them these colors on a palette as a thank you, I would.
“My birthday’s coming up, you know,” I whisper.
“I know,” they say with a bob of their chin, and I’m not surprised.
“I’d like to come back to campus early and spend it with you,” I admit, a renewed flush rising in my cheeks.
“That means you’ll only have two days at home for the break.”
“I know.”
Pure joy narrows their eyes into a full-blown squint. “I’d love to spend your birthday with you.”
An exhilarated grin splits my own face in half. I’ll show my gratitude by spending every spare second I have with them, because my heart craves it too—more.
