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Chapter Text

June 13

You often wonder if people become aware of their visual nooks and crannies. 

Do they notice how their hair makes its way up the back of their necks like a string maze? Do they ever observe the tiny chips of their front teeth and reflect upon countless reasons for how they got here? How does each one of their mouths wrinkle differently while speaking? And most importantly, has anyone ever studied your face as carefully as you did others?

You never thought you could spend the entirety of spring admiring someone’s appearance, yet here you were. Staring at the back of the man you adored and continue to adore so dearly, without him ever knowing. Theoretically speaking, you saw no drawbacks in spending the whole upcoming summer just laying back and continuing to admire.

You often quietly scolded yourself for staring at him so much. So shamelessly, so unabashedly. Like he was yours to begin with.

His individuality worked in pair with yours. Aspiring, obsessively sensible writer and an immensely talented music ex-student made perfect sense in your mind. That being said, however, every time you let your thoughts wander to a dream-like, maladaptive state you hurriedly came crashing down to an unpleasant reality.

Sometimes it was a witty comment that someone made about your temporary stay in Ireland, other times your overthinking got in the way of a picture-perfect, unreachable vision. When fantasizing about a future together you often fell and hit the surface, equally as hard as Icarus himself.

The academic year abruptly came to an end, and so did the first year of your student exchange program. You found yourself amongst a group of students in a Dublin bar, often occupied by peers during previous seasons. The atmosphere was joyous and the air filled with laughter, as you paid your farewells to any form of studying for the next two months. 

Tonight was all about communal enjoyment, yet you couldn’t pull away your gaze from the back of the denim jacket, possessed by a tall figurine. 

“Oi! Earth to future writer!” You heard Alex calling your name from across the room.

The jacket wearer was suddenly turned to you, revealing endless pins stuck to the clothing’s front pocket. One read “Folk’s not dead” and was a small, spontaneously planned Christmas gift. You chuckled at the pretentiousness non-regardless. 

Once your eyes locked the corners of his mouth curled upwards, revealing a shrine of sharp, milk-white teeth. He seemed genuinely pleased to see you.

As Alex went on to ramble about the vacation plans for what seemed to be at least half of the university, all you could focus on was Andrew’s mouth. How every time he opened it, a melodious voice came out and drowned out other present, co-existing sounds.

“So… what about when you come back to your boiling hot home country?” Curse Alex Ryan and his inability to keep his thoughts locked in his head. “Any plans on staying in touch or are you going full-on alien on us?”

Andrew noticed your panicked expression and pink-flushed cheeks that you failed to keep hidden, opening his previously admired lips to interfere. 

You didn’t let him, spilling out the words with impressive speed. “Write me a letter, will you?”

Everyone sitting by the bar table responded with true laughter, only one person seeming intrigued by the pretendedly ironic proposal.

“A letter? The nineteen hundreds called and they want you back!”

“Let them live. I’m the one who should be interrogated here, dropped out before even finishin’ the year!” Andrew’s sweet accent came to the rescue. 

His words were truthful, mid-may you noticed the absence of the entity you have been looking forward to seeing every morning. Later you found out he missed the final exams due to recording music demos. 

Good god, you thought, his ambitions and skill outgrew this place anyways.

The walk back from the bar was steady and calm, at least in the case of your companion.

You felt like Jesus Christ himself, your wobbling legs stepping on metaphorical water, being risen further and further by the jolt of contentment and childish excitement forming in your stomach. 

There is something sacred and therefore special about the presence of a loved person - the holy spirit itself could be delivering you straight to your doorstep, and you would most probably still prefer the drunken, unchoreographed walk with Andrew at four in the morning.

The warm June air ran through your and his hair; the orange sun loomed over the horizon, signalizing the beginning of a new day. 

“Be honest with me,” he started, not proceeding with the ending of his sentence.

You sighed, your eyelids growing heavy, overwhelmed by the eventful night out. “I don’t like sentences starting with ‘Be honest’”

He chuckled. “Okay, one more question and I’m leaving you alone.”

You didn’t want him to leave you alone, even though you would never admit it out loud. Christ, if he ever knew how much you wanted him not to leave you alone both of you would’ve died a thousand times out of sheer embarrassment. 

He was the one to break the silence, which wasn’t uncomfortable in the first place. “When exactly are you leaving?”

Little did he know these few words brought you back from the sleepy state, transforming you into a more aware being. You dreaded the thought of the last day of August, returning to the place you came from.

You knew the privilege of being born in a warm climate country, you were also aware of the pure honor and luck of spending a year abroad. Paradoxically, the sunny shores of Italy did not bring you peace at that moment. You would sacrifice all of your life’s sunsets for a little bit more time with him. 

“How about I keep it a secret?”

His first instinct was to interpret this proposition as a joke. 

“Oh, how generous! How nice of you to think tipsy me won’t remember the dates.”

You raised an eyebrow, half-smiling.

“You’re right, of course.” He quickly added, his face beaming. 

“Andrew, I’m being serious.” You tried to keep your composure, despite the cheap alcohol still running through your bloodstream, intensifying your befuddled condition. 

“So what you are saying is, I’m supposed to come back to your place one day only to find out you’re not there? You’re trying to give a young man a crisis?”

Even though you were aware of his beautiful vulnerability, as he has shown you through both his everyday speech and his art, you could never imagine him crying over a person. Not over you.

“Let’s try it and just see what happens.” 

His eyes were bewildered, yet still kind and understanding. His mind desperately searched for any firm, steady surface to cling to. Both of you knew there wasn’t one - you were leaving and you were leaving soon. 

“Please?” Your pleading came out more unsure than you have originally planned two seconds prior. 

He couldn’t be mad at you for acting like an unhinged romantic poet. That’s what you essentially were, a writer in the making. A damn good one. 

Time is precious. The thing you value even more than your own time is his life span. You cannot bear the thought of him feeling like he wasted even a moment with you. This is the one, heartbreaking time when blissful ignorance is being finally put to your use.

You knew he would accept this seemingly mad proposal. He already did, you could tell by his overall look. His verdant eyes caring, looming over you as though trying to make sense of you. Make the most of you, while you were still here.

“If you leave without a goodbye I'm going to scream so loud you will hear me across the Celtic sea.”

You wondered if he felt your wings against his warm embrace, that you so obviously grew during that moment.

Chapter Text

July 1

Someone dropped you into freezing Icelandic currents and refused to let you swim toward the surface. Locked you in a humongous freezer without a way out. You have fallen while on an ice ring, becoming permanently stuck to its frigid floor. 

Or at least that's what it felt like, plunging into a stranger's pool that you most definitely shouldn’t be diving into in the first place. 

Despite the bone-chilling cold, your heart has never felt warmer. Surrounded by your closest friends, the summer air reeking of chlorine and adrenaline-induced sweat. 

Pushing yourself off the pool floor, you followed the moonlight’s illumination. With a quick movement, you were met by a familiar presence. He was hovering above you like an owl and you couldn’t help, but chuckle at the comparison. 

“I didn’t know swimming was in today, I would have brought spare clothes.” You joked, your voice far from steady, trying to keep your head above the water. “I also didn’t know it was the middle of winter.”

“Oh, piss off!” Alex whisper-shouted. “Not my fault the owners don’t heat the place while away on vacation.”

Andrew propped his chin on a closed fist, pretending to be deeply lost in contemplation. “I guess even being that rich has its limits.”

Dreamland welcomed you once again with open arms. You imagined a universe where you and your hypothetical lover live together. In a proper house, not a one-room rented flat. With a pool. You had no idea how you acquired the pool in the first place.

Shit, for all you cared, you could have won the lottery. Being with Andrew would make you the luckiest person in the world; winning the lottery consequently seemed like a banal, ordinary task.

Your train of thought was interrupted by a giant splash of frosty water directly to your face. 

While you theatrically spit out the remains, as if indignant by the incident, you couldn’t help but notice how tall this man was. Where his feet steadily met the ground, yours floated and moved around frantically, saving you from drowning. 

His curls stuck to his temples, little droplets of liquid forming a constellation. A true sight for sore eyes. You silently thanked the moon for being the only source of light besides Alex’s flashlight, it was the one reason why Andrew couldn’t see your infatuated face. 

The dim glow was soon put to death, as the flashlight flew across the road and another splash was heard and felt near you.

Three of you swam around, forming waves, bodies exploring the highs and depths as jellyfish do in the ocean. To be completely honest, penguins would be a more suitable embodiment, given the low temperature of the night. 

You could have sworn every time you caught a glimpse of Andrew’s gaze, he stared right back.

Click.

Your careless state was interrupted by the noises of an engine roaring nearby. You scolded yourself for being so paranoid, as you tended to react out of stress and worry. 

However, when the light turned on in the driveway, it all became very real all too sudden. The act signalized the return of the property owners and you all realized how bad of a situation you were in.

You didn’t have much time to think anything through, this was the moment to take action. 

Pulling yourself out of the reservoir, you jumped across the nearby bushes; left behind were the screams of an older man with a thick Irish accent.

“Cm’back here! You absolute degenerates!” That name was a new one.

You heard a loud thud behind you and stopped to turn around, without much hesitation. 

“Is everyone okay?” You whispered, voice trembling from the combination of nerves and pure, instinctual concern.

“Yes, no time to talk!” Was all you heard before being pulled by your shoulder and called to start running again. 

Your mind was screaming at you to take Andrew by the hand. And yet, you ignored the natural desire.

It was silly, trivial almost, to think about holding somebody’s palm while simultaneously running away and trying not to trip over your legs in the process. But your need for this type of intimacy was primal, cardinal. 

By the time you were far enough for the chants to stop, your lungs started to feel like they were being set on fire. Alex was on his knees, holding on to his jeans for dear life. Andrew propped against the pavement’s curb, desperately gripping his knuckles.

What nearly sent you over the edge were the crimson streamlets that came out of them.

Now you knew the answer to the conundrum regarding who fell a few minutes prior. He cut his fingers. It happened accidentally, as he tried to save himself from falling even harder.

You were a mess.

The perfectly imperfect adolescence exemplar. Soaked to the bone, standing outside the round-the-clock pharmacy. 

“Please remind me next time to not indulge in anything that includes breaking and entering.” Andrew’s voice was more tranquil now, colorful band-aids scattered across his skin. The zoo animals collection was the cheapest.

You leaned against a brick wall, holding a paper cup of chamomile tea and a cigarette. 

You were technically just holding it for a brief period so that Alex could wring his pants like a kitchen cloth, but you still noticed the collision of values. Self-care and self-destruction. Weirdly poetic, yet extremely earthbound. 

That's what you ended up doing every day, truly. Balancing out these two things, while stumbling through your early twenties. 

“I need to smoke.” The held-in sigh escaped Andrew’s mouth, while his eyes pleadingly scanned Alex’s face for confirmation. When he nodded, Andrew reached out for your wrist and tugged at it.

Instead of passing him the cigarette, you gently pressed his lips with your hand as he unhurriedly inhaled the toxin. 

You were surprised by what came after you to cause such a confident gesture, at the same time sneering at yourself at the unseriousness and infantility of the whole thing. 

Why are such insignificant moments so unbelievably valuable to you? You could have gotten on a whole rampage of questions in your mind, but still, your thoughts were in a completely different realm.

All you could think about was how soft and tender his flesh felt under your fingertips. The upward curve of the mouth and delicate hairs surrounding it.

Chin.

Cheek.

Mouth.

Mouth. 

The cloud of exhaled smoke surrounded your head and you were no longer touching anything. This moment existed no more, life given to it only in your memory.

“Ekhm, so,” thank you, Alex. “What do we do now? Round two in a different pool?”

“Pardon my French, Ryan, but there is no fucking way.” You grinned, your nose wrinkling in the process. “I guess we could come back to mine if you don’t mind feeling a bit claustrophobic.”

The men didn’t seem to care one bit. After all, this night was kicking all of your asses, just in unique ways.

You wondered for a short while. “Alex, are you allergic to fur?”

An overly large cat sprung out across the green couch you acquired at last month’s flea market. Even though he is a stray, you are convinced there must be a generous amount of Maine coon gene in his bloodline, due to his unusual size.

“What’s the name of the beast?” Alex questioned while squeezing in between the kitchen counter and a coffee table.

“This distinguished gentleman?” You pointed towards the now yawning animal.

“Dante,” Andrew replied without much thinking. “Like the poet.”

“Of course it’s Dante!” he shouted cheerfully. “Not only Italian, but also a writer!”

You laughed sonorously.

“He just came in through my window one day and decided it was also his home now. He is a great roommate, however, it can get crowded sometimes.” You paused and looked around. “Like now.”

“He is a pleasantly surprising side effect of living on the ground floor.” Andrew smirked.

You unfolded your previously crossed hands. “Wouldn’t change it for the world!”

While the two of you got lost in playful banter for the next hour or so, Alex was taken entirely in the arms of Morpheus. The man was snoring quietly, his head resting on the wooden piece of furniture.

“He can be quite cute when he’s sleeping,” noticed Andrew.

“He’s always cute.” You teased.

His pupils grew a tad bit larger.

“At least when he’s not being a total ass.” 

Your reply was an astute observation, as the peaceful version of Alex that unfolded right in front of you seemed vastly unlike what you were seeing every other day. 

“Come on, man, time to go.” Andrew tried to awaken the half-asleep friend, with not much success. “You cannot sleep here!”

You wanted to propose a sleepover, but you were also well aware the pull-out couch wasn’t enough for the three of you. You could probably just all sleep on the floor, as if you were your teenage selves crashing after a party, but the overwhelming tiredness and damp clothes caused you to seek a better form of rest. 

Andrew helped Alex get up, steadying him on his side for support. The sleepyhead, still barely conscious, murmured your name, causing you both to almost burst out laughing. 

“I know I can be gentle,“ Andrew whispered. “But so much that he mistook me for you?” 

As your cheeks burned, you looked down at his hands now decorated with drawings of giraffes and lions. 

You wanted to kiss each and every one of them until all of his pain was sedated.  

Chapter Text

July 17

You are good at pretending everything is alright. Or so you thought.

You and all your present acquaintances are sitting on a ticking time bomb, still only one of you knows when it is going to set off. You could lie all you want, but the person you aren’t going to convince or outsmart is yourself.

Today is a bad day. Nothing more, nothing less. Just an inconvenient moment to be a self-aware being.

You sit on your sofa, hunched over, hugging your shoulders firmly to calm yourself down. There isn’t anyone else there to do that for you.

You cannot help but reflect on that thought for a longer while. This god-awful state is familiar, the anxiety and loneliness of it all. You are eight years old, calming yourself after a meltdown because your parents are too offended and proud to talk to you.

When you used to panic during university lectures, your friends were the first ones to help you. They would stroke your back, tell you comforting words, or try to distract you by focusing your attention elsewhere.

Even though they are all equally loving people, Andrew is the best of them all in human-to-human relations. He is a walking encyclopedia of knowledge regarding help and support. 

Every time you hit a rough patch, his words and actions deprived you of your worries in seconds.

Soon, he will be gone.

Your head is now in your hands and your shoulders are repeatedly shaking. You don’t want to accept the fact of change. You regret coming here in the first place. If you hadn’t taken this stupid, wonderful opportunity, you would have saved yourself from the later heartache.

Frustration can result in you doing impulsive, destructive things. You learned this about yourself a long time ago. But you weren’t going to ruin this. If something needs to break, it will be your own damn heart.

Just as you were about to get up and get on with the rest of this debilitating day, there was a knock on a door.

You didn’t know what was louder, the noise on the other side of the wall or your heartbeat.

Your soul lept from your body as you blasted off the couch. You turned the doorknob, revealing the elderly woman standing outside of it. 

Your heart dropped.

“Oh, Hello Mrs. Fiadh!” You wistfully smiled at the neighbor. 

She has been living here forever, or at least that’s what you heard from the other residents of the complex. Today she was dressed in a flowery, pink dress and looked up at you worryingly.

“Ah Dear, did I startle ye? Promise I’ll take only a minute of yer time.” Her voice tone was low and raspy, yet still sweet.

“No, no, no, it’s okay. I have time. Come on in.” Did you look that messed up?

“You know, I just need a little bit of food for ma cat.” She explained. “Y’have a cat, right? Or was it the next floor…”

“Yes, this is the cat’s den.” You reassured.

“Grand!” She exclaimed. “I don’t mean to be nosey, but is there something buggin’ ye darling?”

You scanned the woman’s face and saw nothing but compassion and interest. Maybe discussing your distress with her over a cup of coffee wasn’t that bad of an idea?

“Let me make you something to drink and then we will talk, what do you say?”

She seemed pleased with the proposal, as she sat down and Dante crawled into her lap. The kettle started to squeak, emitting air.

“Precious, precious kitty!” She caressed Dante’s dark fur. “People who are good with animals tend to be pure souls, did ye know that?”

You nodded, not wanting to interrupt her monologue. That theory was familiar to you and made even more sense when put into practice.

“That lovely boyfriend of yours, he sometimes helps me with ma groceries before he comes to visit ye. My cat, he adores him! His ears perk up when he sees ‘em!” 

“I'm sorry, my what?” You questioned, wide-eyed.

“Yer boyfriend! What’s his name, um, something with the letter A…” She searched her memory for the answer. “Andy, right?” 

She looked so wholesome, trying to remember your alleged partner’s name. You didn’t even want to expose her to the fact that the only form of dating you two had were the imaginary fantasies stored in your mind palace.

You weren’t good at remaining stoned-faced though, and Fiadh started to put together facts.

“Oh, young one, I wasn’t tryin’ to be nebby! Are ye upset with him?”

“No, it’s not about him. It’s me.” You explained. “I can never be upset with him.”

“What a sweet thing to say,” she grinned, revealing her front teeth. “I remember when I was this in love.”

You had yet to learn where this story was going, so you just asked. “Mrs. Fiadh, do you have a husband?”

“I sure as hell did!” She laughed. “For forty-five years, ye believe me! He was a nice man, carin’ and providing for me.”

You tried to imagine the adolescent version of the woman sitting in front of you. How did she look, what were her goals? Her dreams? Was her hair always that curly? Was she always this kind?

“Anyhow, he’s not the one I’m talking about.” This declaration took you by surprise.

“So, who’s the lucky gentleman?”

There goes the full smile again.

“Gary. He came here from overseas. Traveled with eastern fishermen, plenty of ‘em at Ireland's coast back in the day! He gave me the best year of ma life, but all once good must come to an end.” 

You wanted to give her the biggest hug she’s ever had.

“And where is Gary now?”

“England. Or heaven. It probably doesn’t matter to him. He loved the waters so badly, he couldn’t care less for Eden. And we adored each other. Very much.”

Your eyes welled up a little. “Yet, he left?”

“Dear child, when ye love someone so much you let them leave. Sure, it breaks yer heart, the distance. You cry. But you manage. You write letters. You cherish the scraps.”

With that she walked through the door, leaving behind the cold, untouched coffee. Dante fell asleep and purred loudly. You were convinced that if he had a human form, he would be smiling.

“Mrs. Fiadh, wait!” You ran after her. “I forgot to give you the cat food!”

“Aye, McCartney! Ringo called and he wants to talk.” 

Andrew was sitting on the floor, holding his mahogany guitar. He was strumming the instrument delicately when you came into the room. 

“Hmm, Harisson, I’m a little busy right now.” Tease.

You plopped down right next to him, pulling your knees close to your chest.

“No, but seriously, what are you playing?”

“Oh, you know, just some recent stuff. Hope I can make it out to a proper song, or out of my drawers at least.”

Your gaze focused on his side profile. You were captivated by how the subtle curves of his features seemed to ease from one place to another. From the prominent browbone to the soft eyelashes, from the strong bridge of the nose to the small dip right above the upper lip. You could make a whole landscape out of them.

“I’m sure you will.” Your smile was warm, yet you looked away every time he glanced over at you. You were afraid that if you kept eye contact for a second too long, your face would drown in all existing shades of red.

“The melody is nice,” you continued. “Have you come up with the words yet?”

“Look, the lyricist’s asking!” He mocked. “I’m just kidding, I did start to write. Maybe I will send it over to you when I finish. You know, for the expert’s opinion.”

He should stop being so delightful to be around, it’s actually exhausting.

“If you don’t want to cite, maybe you can give me just an overall idea?” You pleaded. “I want to know what it’s about.”

“Okay, I will try.” He fixed the glasses that kept falling down his nose. “Think infatuation, but not obsession. Like the humane element of falling in love.”

Your expression changed into a more sunny one. “Domesticity? Look at you, Hozier-Byrne, getting all soft!”

He laughed, hitting his palm on his knee. The rainbow band-aids were gone, and the cuts from earlier this month had begun to fade away.

“That’s not all, throw some historical elements in there. Mythology, religion, all that jazz.” He truly knew how to keep a listener intrigued. 

“Sounds like a wonderful, artistic soup.” You glanced over to the instrument he was holding. “Gosh, I wish I knew how to play that thing!”

“Do you want me to teach you?” 

You were sure you misheard what just came out of his mouth. You could have gone deaf, as the ringing in your ears seemed to grow louder and louder.

But here he was, scooting over in your direction. You silently prayed to anything angel-like there was to save you from doing something stupid.

However, there was no such thing as wrong gestures when it came to Andrew. Everything you two did, said, or thought came naturally. The unspoken rules of separate beings.

You laid against him, the linen material of his shirt stiff against the back of your head. His fingers guided yours to play different chords, unique sounds coming out of the acoustic.

You didn’t want to disrespect any possible music gods, but you couldn’t give one shit about the guitar lesson. Apollo would have forgiven you, you were sure of it. 

What you felt was so intense, you couldn't pay attention to anything else but him. Your heart was busy doing cartwheels around your chest and your mind was completely smitten with his smell. 

When he started to quietly hum it all became too much for you. You closed your eyes and gently leaned back. You were bewitched.

He was quick to move his head to the side to look at you.

“Is everything okay?”

“Yes, um, I’m just,” His eyes were the most vibrant shade of green you’ve ever seen, no forest existing on this planet could truthfully compare. “I’m just really, really happy.”

He snorted. “Okay, hippie, I’m really happy too! But you have one more chord to learn.” 

And with that, you were back to unsuccessfully trying to tame the instrument again. You were a better writer than a musician, that’s for sure. 

“Who did you want to be when you were little?” 

He stopped his movements for a while, presumably to gather his thoughts. 

“Like, when I was growing up?”

“M-hm.”

“I think musician, honestly. You know, 'cause of my dad.” You weren’t surprised, there wasn’t another suitable profession for a talent like his. “How about you?”

“Don’t know. Didn’t get that philosophical as a seven-year-old.” Even his laugh was lovely. “All I knew was I wanted to see my name on a bookstore shelf.”

“That can be arranged.”

“Yeah, maybe in five years when I finally finish something solid. Writer's block is an ass-kicker.”

“No, I mean,” he got up, leaving you alone on the floor. “That can be arranged.”

He was quick to disappear into his bedroom and come back even quicker. He was holding a piece of paper, ripped out from some kind of notebook, a bit of tape, and a black pen.

“Sign it.”

You giggled. “What?”

“Sign the paper.”

“Of course, an autograph for the fan!”

You followed his orders, adding a smiley face after your surname.

He took the signature from your hands and glued it to his bookshelf.

“See, now that’s better!”

Your mind finally clicked. He was, honestly and fully, the man of your dreams.

You wanted to embrace him and never let him out of your hold. You could stay intertwined ‘till the end of times, that would be fine with you.

Instead, you fixed his glasses that had fallen off his nose once again. You earned yet another heartfelt smile.

Chapter Text

August 1

To say you were tired, would be an understatement. Your eyes were practically closing on themselves.

Your senses hazily came into awareness, revealing the sight of colorful bus seats. The lady from the speaker above mouthed a loud “Next station, Doolin” just as the vehicle slowed down its pace. The right side of your head was sore, Andrew’s warm body serving as a pillow while sitting next to you.

You both needed to get away for a few days, escape from the weight of it all. The dread of your upcoming leave, the realization of the impermanence of whatever this was. A road trip was a wise way to go about it. That’s what adults do, right?

You found out about Doolin by surprise, an all-night internet deep dive leading you toward this tiny, cliffside town. The houses were small and painted in a range of pastel colors, reminding you of the gingerbread houses you used to make during childhood winters. There were plenty of old, moss-covered garden fences and historic cemeteries, located right next to the ripe-blue currents of the Atlantic Ocean. 

“Holy shit, we made it to Twin Peaks!” You exclaimed while getting off the bus and dragging your yellow suitcase behind.

You thought that coming here by all means of public transportation would cost you a little money and a lot of time. The second one was especially truthful, yet you didn’t mind. Sleeping on Andrew’s shoulder for two consecutive hours was neither time lost, nor wasted. 

“I’ve heard there is a Crab Island nearby…” stated Andrew.

“Don’t get too excited, zoologist of a man!” You laughed. “I’m sure the island doesn’t live up to its name. The crabs are non-existent. Probably a fancy name for some type of beer.”

He chuckled and took your suitcase from you, easing you from the burden of crossing over a rock-lined road with overly heavy luggage. You weren’t staying for long, yet bringing a couple of books with you didn’t seem like a bad idea. 

“Jesus, what exactly did you bring with you?” Andrew thought otherwise.

“Dante’s in there.” You joked. “C’mhere boy, kitty kitty!”

“Feels ‘bout right.” He was clearly struggling, as the road just got steeper with every step you took.

“Oi! Don’t you shame my cat, he is at a healthy weight. I feed him with love.”

“I can tell, dear.”

What did he just call you?

After a good minute of tossing and turning you arrived at your destination, the holiday cottages unraveling in all of their glory. You walked up the wooden staircase and turned the doorknob, consequently realizing that the property was still closed.

After a couple of shits and fucks, you agreed to head toward the nearby brook. You sat down on a glistening stone, resting your legs on the valise. Andrew was quick to accompany you. 

“That’s a pretty-fucking-stunning view, I have to admit.” He acknowledged. “How exactly did you find this place?”

“M’not sure. But I’m really glad I did.”

“Do you believe in fate?” That’s an unusual topic for a midday seaside stroll.

“Hm?” You questioned.

“You know, destiny? Things falling into place by the work of some outside force.”

“Fate, not necessarily. Destiny, maybe.”

“How can you believe one without believing another?”

You liked it when his expression changed into an intrigued or confused one. His eyebrows furrowed delicately, crow’s feet forming around his temple area.

“I don’t have any power over fate, so I don’t like believing my life is dependent on one. Destiny is more intertwined with what I do. Like, my purpose in life is to write. I’ve done it since I was five years old. That’s my destiny, I think.”

He looked as if you just told him some life-altering news. Startled. Fascinated. The warmth of his kind expression melted your face, sun-induced droplets of sweat traveling down your back.

You could have burned completely if you stared for any longer, although the return of the cottage owners rid you of your worry. Andrew jumped to the ground and gently helped you down. 

“Let’s put this brick in a room and properly go out. What do you say?” He said, lifting the baggage yet again. 

“Sounds nice. Beer?”

Regarding drinking proposals, you’ve always seemed to reach an agreement easily.

 “Beer.”

What first seemed to be a meek, almost tranquil town, turned out to have a pretty vibrant nightlife sector. There were plenty of people outside the pub and even more inside it. There were chants, bright lights, and people screaming over loud sounds. 

Maybe it was your luck, or the previously non-believed fate wanting to make her statement, but it was karaoke night. When you stumbled through the bar entrance it was quickly known that tonight was all about music.

Andrew was the best candidate for karaoke the locals could ever ask for.

He was electric. Incredible. You’ve never seen anything like this. He was swaying from side to side, half-drunkenly singing the words to “Love Will Tear Us Apart”. Somehow, he didn’t miss one beat.

He was gesturing for you to come join him, smile not leaving his face for even a mere second. Instead, you sat on a bar stool and threw your hands around, pretending to be playing the drums. 

Once the final chorus ended, he plopped down next to you and supported himself by pressing his elbow on the countertop. 

Ovations, claps, and whistles were still present. He just grinned and hid his face in his palms, letting the curls cover his flattered expression.

People were flowing in and out of the place, the warmth of the stifling air making your cheeks flush. Your nostrils filled with smells of different perfumes. Some sweet, others more sultry. The scents that came through the most were the woody and fresh notes of the man situated next to you.

You tugged at his jacket, ready to leave and embark on whatever journey this night was ready to bring you.  

Just as you were about to leave, the rusty jukebox started playing. By the sheer look of it, you immediately assumed it was out of order. Someone wanted to bring the mighty beast to life and tossed a couple of pennies into it. 

Harmonious cello sounds filled the room. It was a mellow, leisurely melody. The kind people slow-dance to.

Sure enough, the previously half-occupied dancefloor made out of a wooden pallet soon filled with couples. 

Andrew stood up and instinctively reached out, stretching out his hand. You raised an eyebrow, yet knew damn well what he was asking of you.

“You already said no to Joy Division.” You laughed at the sincerity of his tone. “Please?”

You never thought of yourself as a ballroom dancer. You imagined stepping all over the hypothetical person's toes with your shoes or accidentally decking them in the process.

None of that was happening with Andrew. He was holding you firmly, still not possessively. His hand cupped yours, the other resting on your waist and drawing little circles there. You felt safe and were trying to convince yourself it was going to stay that way forever.

Your eyes were fixated on his torso, scared to unabashedly look up. This time around, you weren’t afraid of the cheeks overflowing with bright colors of infatuation. He was a beam of light and you were barely a sunray. There was a lingering sadness hanging over you. 

Instead, you closed your eyes and pressed the side of your head to his chest. You couldn’t stop the sniffles coming out of you, tears landing both on him and the floor. 

He pulled away quickly and grabbed you by both of your shoulders. He kneeled to your eye level, clearly concerned. You didn’t hear much and your mind was elsewhere. You ruined this. You will ruin more, it’s just a matter of time.

“Hey,” he was trying to bring you back to earth with little to no success. “Hey!” 

His whisper-shouts revived your paranoid state.  

“We can get out of here right now if you want, okay?”

“M’kay.” Your legs were wobbling. 

All you could think of while leaving the pub was wow. Escapism didn’t work this time.

Andrew was the first one to break the silence.

“I’m not mad at you, all right?”

You were standing outside of the cottages you rented for the night. Two separate miniscule buildings. 

You only nodded in agreement, though you weren’t convinced of your non-guiltness at all. It was you who couldn’t put your stupid feelings aside. 

Just let go. Have a good time. God, stop being so dramatic all of the time. 

“I can quite literally see you fighting your thoughts at the moment.”

It was both wonderful and terrifying to be known so well by somebody.

His hands were cold, his deep voice composed and steady. He tugged at the sleeves of your sweater.

“Goodnight, Andrew.” 

You turned around on your heel, closing the door and locking it behind you.

It was not your day. Not your week. Or month. You were living on borrowed hours street and still couldn’t make that fun. 

You thought of your life-altering revelation from July and laughed in your face. What in the actual fuck were you doing? 

You could just sleep this out.

Write this out. 

Burn out once again. 

Or actually, you could go for what you truly want in life. 

“I’m sorry.” That was the first thing you said to Andrew after running through his door.

“No, I’m sorry, I should have-”

“Shut up and let me finish.” Your hands traveled to his mouth and instructed him to stay quiet.

He threw his arms up, signaling the surrender.

“I know I can get a bit, you know,” words were coming out of you at a rapid speed. “Intense.”

“A bit?” He teased.

“Aye! I told you to stay quiet!” 

He was trying to stop himself from chuckling. With a short sigh, you were back to talking.

“Very intense. Insufferable, actually. I try not to be. Most of the time, it doesn’t work.”

“I like your intensity though. I’m grateful you’re like this.”

He wanted to make you cry again, didn’t he?

“It’s strange. The balance. For the amount of chaos I create, I can also do good. Be good. No matter how down and shitty I feel, I can feel the same volume of joy.”

His ears perked up. You imagined there was an invisible lightbulb over his head. 

“Okay, let’s tilt this scale then. What would make you the happiest right now?”

“I'm very sleepy, but there is a stack of books in my suitcase.” You confessed.

“Holy shit, so it wasn’t Dante all along?” 

Oh, how you loved the banter you two had.

“Double-reading?” You proposed, already predicting the answer.

“Double-reading it is.”

The faint, yellow-tinted glow of a streetlight illuminated his face and you knew, then and there, all along, he was the brightest star under the August skyline.