I want to kiss him. That I know for definite. Maybe it’s the amount of K we’ve consumed in grainy lines up our noses, maybe it’s his aura; whatever it is, his glow is amazing. I want to just reach over and touch him, pull him close and press my lips against his tender skin.
The conversation blurs around me, I hear every word but my attention is locked upon one person. Three on a bed snorting lines off a dead man’s face. God bless the lines of fate. But he’s so fucking hot. To touch or not to touch? I mean it’s not like we haven’t, you know, touched each other before, but there’s a third party here now, that’s a whole different ball game. I mean a private kiss is something but to do it in front of another, well that can be assumed as meaning more. Maybe it is the K, but God I want him so bad right now.
I guess I’ve got to kinda try to work out where things are going. I only wanted friendship but fuck he’s hot, and I mean I’m not talking about ripping his clothes off because I’m not that sexually obsessed, I just wanna kiss him. Guess this is the price you pay for being friends with beautiful people. He’s hard to read, hard to see what’s going on inside that head of his. Subtle moments mean a lot in this case. Closed people can be a challenge, but what good is anything if there’s no challenge?
I’ve been here before though, quite a few times actually. Miss an opportunity out of fear or just go with it? You either mess it all up or you don’t. Everything works in twos, a positive or a negative. That’s life I guess, always circular, always filled with questions. We can only ever see it through one set of eyes, our own, and they’re always that little bit jaded.
Another three lines are cut. She snorts one, he snorts one, I snort the last. The powder hovered up via Her Majesty the Queen; it’s like a two fingered salute of ‘fuck you!’ A moment. When the Queen snorts her mountains of Peruvian, is she vain enough to filter it past her own currency? Snorts a line then rolls the fifty quid bill into a cigarette and kicks herself back against her throne…
Sorry, trailed off there. Where was I? Oh yeah, this scene, me wanting to kiss this vision of beauty. The whole scene is beautiful; I wouldn’t change a single moment. Not one. I used the snorting as an excuse to move closer. We’re touching now, my hand placed against his back and he hasn’t flinched away. That’s good right? God I’m rubbish at this sort of thing, I always mess it up. Sit, chill, enjoy. I am doing all those but he’s always at the back of my mind, my eyes always flicking him that ‘casual’ look. He rubs my leg. It feels good.
Life, funny little concept isn’t it. All these differing people; ninety-nine point nine percent not even registering on our radars, never even speaking to us. Then you get those you care about, then there’s that small, microscopic selection that leave you feeling like this. Confused. Damn life for being so complex.
Eyes flick back at him again. Catch him snatching a look at me. The laughter of the conversation is enough to cover up the moment. He sits up. So close, close enough to kiss. Fuck it, I’m going to go for it. I lean in as his head turns. The lips connect. The moment. We melt into each other, a movement shared. Falling deeper and deeper into each other. Intimacy without a solid connection. It’s perfect, feeling like the first time. In a way it is, well not really, our first public kiss had been when we’d put on quite a dramatic show beneath Centre Point. That had been drunken; this, well this is a different feeling. Intense is a word I’d use. Not emotional intense, but a physical intenseness. A camera flash. A moment caught on film. The moment. The moment I’ve been waiting for. Some things actually go your way sometimes you know.
Reality returns. The speakers continue to sing. You can put music to any visuals; build your own soundtrack for your life’s movie. Moments marked by noise.
Another three lines get snorted off the dead man’s face. It’s like the moment never happened, but everything we do leaves a scar, each word a tear, each thought lingers. Shit, the K’s kicking in I guess.
Funny how someone can captivate you so much, intrigue you and make you want to learn more. I talk too much though, maybe that’s what usually scares them all away, but I guess that’s me, can’t sit in silence. Quietness a discomfort; like small moments of disinterest. I’m wrong on that; I know there needs to be ‘moments’ but they still make me uncomfortable. I’m listening to the conversation between the two. I’m the new kid here, watching the animation of friendship. Some people are suited, their interaction marked. Practised, connected by default.
Eyes back on him. We’re kinda curled around each other, his head resting on my legs and it’s same for me. It probably looks cute but that’s not the word I’d use. It symbolises something that isn’t there yet. A possibility, not a certainty.
We sit up. Unplanned and without thinking our lips meet again. Melting once again into each other as a galaxy of crystalline shards glistens across the bed sheets. Do you actually breathe when you kiss? I can’t remember. It’s not relevant. All that matters is the here, the now. Kissing, an intimate sharing of DNA. Dopamine mixes with ketamine as all three of us, connected in different ways, evaporate off the planet together.