“I don’t know what I’m laughing about,” I finally said.
“Me either,” he replied, which just made us do it more.
A couple walked by and looked at us like there was something wrong with us, and I couldn’t say I blamed them.
“I think…I think I’m going to go for a walk before heading out.”
My gut clenched, nerves running down my spine. Like an idiot, I simply sat there and stared at him.
He frowned, then, “Do you, um…wanna go?” he asked, his voice softer, shy.
I’d never had a guy ask me to go for a walk in my life. Not that I hadn’t walked with men. Maybe it was ridiculous, but in the asking, it felt unique. And it wasn’t anything I had ever considered before, that different feeling with a dude. He was so damn interesting to me.
“That was dumb. I didn’t mean anything by it. I don’t know why I asked—”
“No,” I cut him off. “Let’s go.”
We stood. “Do you want to put your backpack in my car?” He pointed to it. “I know it’s not much…”
“It runs. That’s what matters.” I handed it over, and he put it in the trunk alongside his guitar.
We were quiet as we started to walk. Eventually, I asked him again about music. It was like a fire lit in his eyes, and I couldn’t help but lose myself in the glow. I’d never loved anything as much as Remington obviously loved music. He talked about how he’d written all his life and how he’d always been interested in playing. About a used guitar he got at a yard sale when he was nine and how he’d never looked back. He taught himself how to play and read music.
“What about your family?”
“Don’t know where my dad is.” He shrugged. “It’s me, Mom, my brother and sister. You?”
“I have a brother and sister as well. I’m the oldest.”
“Same! Mom’s always had it rough, taking care of all of us. I’m hoping one day she won’t have to. I’ll be able to do it with my music, ya know?” He glanced my way before eyeing the ground again. “I mean, I doubt it’ll happen. I get it, but…”
“I think you will.” Sometimes you said things to people simply to say them, because it was the right thing or because you wanted to make them feel better, but this wasn’t one of those situations. I believed Remington would make it. If someone who loved music as much as he did and just wanted to take care of their family couldn’t make it, the world was fucked. I refused to believe that.
“Yeah?” he asked with hope in his eyes.
“Yeah. Did you play in school? In the band or anything?”
He shook his head. “We were homeschooled, so I didn’t get to do stuff like that.” He sounded lonely.
I couldn’t believe all the things he told me. I’d always thought I was the type of person who didn’t care what other people thought, but talking with him, I realized I did. That I wasn’t unapologetically me, I just allowed myself to change who I was and fit in with others around me.
I wanted to be more like him. I was…fuck, I was strangely in awe of the guy.
I didn’t want to tell him anything about myself because it suddenly felt fake, petty, insignificant. I’d never loved anything or had to fight for anything, especially for something like having food or paying bills. It wasn’t that I’d never seen it. People of all classes lived in Havenwood, but it was different hearing Remington talk about it.
“So…you come from money,” he said eventually.
“Is it that obvious?” But of course it was. I’d never felt weird about it until that moment, like why did I have so much and he didn’t? I didn’t want to be Lawson Grant to him, the kid who grew up with a silver spoon in his mouth.
“Does that surprise you?” Remington asked, and I chuckled.
“I guess not. I just…want to be me.”
“That is you.” His brows pulled together. “Doesn’t have to be all of you, but it is you. There’s no changing that.”
“No, I guess not.”
We kept going, the destination inconsequential. At one point, Remington tripped on a raised edge of sidewalk. My hand shot out to steady him, the warmth of his body penetrating through his hoodie.
“Thanks,” he said shyly. “I’m a bit of a mess.”
I didn’t think he was a mess at all. He was fascinating.
“Why do you want to? Change it, I mean?” he asked when we started moving again.
We made our way to a park and sat on a bench. It was getting colder, but I didn’t want to leave, didn’t want the night to end. “I don’t know. It feels like everything is planned out for me. And that’s not bad, as such. I know I’m lucky. My parents are good people, and my siblings are the best. I have a good life, so…I don’t know? It’s not that I want to change it; I just wish I knew what I wanted.” As if I had a choice in the matter.
“You’ll figure it out,” Remington replied.
“How do you know?” The question tumbled from my mouth without any thought from me, and it was…fuck, it was embarrassing. “That was dumb.”
“No, it wasn’t. And I guess I don’t know.” He laughed. “Maybe I’m supposed to have something better to say there. Like, oh, you’ll figure it out because…fuck, whatever. I don’t know, but the truth is, I hope you do. You can’t know I’ll make it as a musician, yet you said it for the same reason I said what I did.”
It was the best thing he could have said, because it was honest. Remington didn’t pretend to have all the answers.
We looked at each other, and I got this fluttery feeling in my belly. We’d been talking for hours, and it probably wasn’t super safe to be out, and it was cold as shit, but I didn’t care. There was a path behind us with lights along the sides, and they made it so we could see each other.
A puff of air left Remington’s mouth, his warm breath misting in the cool air. I watched his lips as he licked them, and that fluttery feeling was back, even more potent than it had been a moment ago.
Want.
Before I could dissect it, I was leaning in and he wasn’t backing away. What the fuck am I doing? ran through my head, but I ignored it because I really wanted to keep going. And then our lips were touching, and it felt like this electric current zipped through me. His tongue slipped inside my mouth, and I let it, wanted it. We kissed and groaned and ate each other’s sounds. He tasted good, like coffee, music, and passion, and it felt good, the rub of his stubble against my face.
Fuck, I never wanted the kiss to end. I wondered if I could live there, in that moment, with Remington’s lips on mine. It didn’t matter that he was a guy. It didn’t matter how new this was for me.
But then, this likely wasn’t anything new for him. Maybe he kissed guys the way I’d kissed girls my whole life.
When he pulled away, I instantly wanted to tug him back.
“If a plant is sad, do other plants photosympathise with it?” he asked, out of the blue. Was that it? Did he tell corny jokes when he was nervous?
I smiled. “I’ve never…” I began, but couldn’t finish the sentence. Raising my hand, I touched my lips like I could feel his kiss against my fingers.