Easton
She Looks So Perfect—5 Seconds of Summer
“So what was the plan for tonight again?” I look up at Rayne. Now I’m sitting on the piano bench, and she’s standing a few steps away from me, running her fingers through her long, messy hair and trying to tame it. It’s the first time I’ve seen her in a dance studio with all the rings on her fingers, and I have no idea why, but with them she somehow seems more... complete. More like herself.
She gives me a look of amusement. “The planwasthat you help me with the choreography by playing the song.”
“I can still do that.”
“You’ll have to.” She smiles, and I love it.
“I know. By the way, Jax uploaded a few videos of us to TikTok with the songs we recorded before I met you. They’re not as good as the ones from last weekend, of course, but—”
“All your songs are good,” she says, glaring at me reproachfully.
“Okay, okay. Sorry. Anyway, it seems to be going pretty well. At least there are a few people who want more from us.”
“Of course they do. How could they not? You guys are great.” She nods confidently, as if she hadn’t expected anything else. She probably didn’t.
“He also took a few videos from our day in the studio and posted them as Instagram stories. I have no idea when he had time to make them, but right now it really looks like something could happen.”
“It will, because you’re good. So much happens on social media these days that I’m really not surprised.” She shrugs.
“Maybe dreams come true after all.” I have to swallow the lump in my throat, otherwise I won’t be able to get the words out. I still don’t really believe it, no matter how good we might actually be. There are a thousand others who are just as good.
Her gaze softens. “I’m sure they do.”
“Yeah, but it probably would have been a good idea to deal with all the marketing stuff first.”
Rayne makes a face. “Stop being so negative! You’re just getting started, and it’s going to be fine. Besides, so much of this stuff is so unpredictable that it’s impossible to say whether it would have made any difference. What matters is what comes next. And to make that work, we should really get started now.”
“Yeah, just a minute.” I reach out to her because I need to touch her. I’m addicted to feeling her skin against mine. But Rayne laughs and takes a couple of steps backward.
“Oh no. Your hands have to stay where they are.” She points to the piano. “Otherwise we won’t get anything done today.”
“Okay.” With a sigh, I give in and turn around on the bench so I can lift the lid. It’s hard to ignore the fact that a few moments ago, Rayne was sitting right there in front of me, her feet proppedup and my head between her legs. The memory of her scent and taste makes me much too warm. And all the blood in my body goes south again. I’m glad I’m not wearing jeans, otherwise they would be getting uncomfortable.
“Ready?”
I look up and catch her eye in the mirror. She raises her eyebrows in a question. I want to say no because I’d really like to disappear into her room with her and take off her clothes again. Actually, the T-shirt belongs to me, but it looks much better on her, even though it’s way too big for her. Maybe that’s exactly what makes it so hot.
Get a grip on yourself.
I clear my throat and nod. “Ready.”
“Let’s go.” She smiles, her eyes sparkling as if she knows very well that I’m not ready at all.
I take a deep breath and put my hands on the keys, even though “Dance with You ’Til Midnight” isn’t actually a piano song. But it will be okay to work on the choreography like this. In the mirror, I watch Rayne close her eyes and take a breath. When I start singing, she takes the first step.
My fingers find the right keys all by themselves. I know the melody by heart; it’s become second nature, just like the lyrics. That’s pretty useful right now, because I wouldn’t be able to do this if I had to concentrate.
I can only look at Rayne, my eyes following her every movement. It’s clear that she feels the song the same way I do. She dances, I sing, and it’s perfect. Not in a controlled, truly perfect way but her own kind of perfect.
Her steps are sure and light, her hair flying as she spins. Slowsteps, fast ones, turns and leaps. I have no idea how she does it, but I can’t look away. I watch Rayne dance every day in ballet, and I saw her in that one contemporary class, but somehow this is different. Better.
Because it’s our song, and because every one of her movements fits with our words. Because the dance is powerful and strong, but also sad and fearful. I didn’t know it was possible to see emotions, but when she dances, I can.
Forgot to breathe
