the piano man

[NATALY]: 

Daydreams could never compare.

Many an afternoon was spent with a series of not-entirely-PG scenes running through her head at any given moment. Some were sweet, comprised of instances where the two would be sitting at a piano – Edward would pause in the middle of a piece to kiss her on the forehead. Others were downright torrid, enough to fuel a fire that burned hot in the pit of her stomach…and other places, for that matter.

But knowing just how Edward kissed – head tilted, lips pliant but moving slowly, muscles in his jaw jumping underneath the hand she had splayed against his neck – was so much better than merely imagining it. Her heart rate picked up (whether from the lack of air of the intensity of her kiss she didn’t know) and her lungs started to burn, but she didn’t want to stop. He kissed her like she was to be treasured instead of a vehicle for pleasure, and the feeling was intoxicating.

Nataly not-so-subtly gulped down air after Edward finally pulled back. No longer leaning on her hand, she sat up a little straighter as she tried to regain a better sense of what was up and what was down, as well as her long-forgotten dignity. Her hands were just itching to whip out a pocket mirror as she started to feel self-conscious as hell. She settled for wiping her pastel-pink lipstick off of the corners of Edward’s mouth. The young woman grinned as she saw how disheveled he was as well, and used her free hand to smooth down a section of his hair. “It wasn’t that bad. I’d give it…a five. Out of…five, okay it was really nice, don’t look at me like that!”

He was going to drive her completely mad, she was sure.

A quick glance behind them showed that much of the crowd was beginning to clear out of the park. The lights on the stage were shutting off one by one, and her eyes began to adjust to seeing y moonlight. She didn’t want to leave, didn’t want to disrupt this moment that had worked out so wonderfully. Any effort to prolong things would be futile…

…but she could enjoy the moment while it lasted. Without speaking, she got to her feet, stretching her arms above her head. Wet feet slipped into damp shoes, and she held her hand out for Edward to grasp so they could make their way back to his car. Together, in more than one sense of the word.

[ EDWARD ] : 

"--don't look at me like that!"

"I love everything your face is doing right now--everything." He leaned into her touch (possibly not unlike a puppy). 

There was a moment's temptation to pull her then--grab Nataly's hand and pull her down onto him, so they could both lay down on the mix of grass and smooth rock of the shore; maybe then they wouldn't have to go back, and time could stop tick-tick-ticking forward as it always did. The brightness of the moon behind the trees, the fading light that couldn't even blind Edward--not like the setting sun--still brought him back to reality.

Leaving was inevitable and he was always one to look forward, not back; to itch and think of tomorrow. Once his pants are relatively dirt and moss free, he reached out and laced his fingers with Nataly's--the warmth of her hand curiously electrifying against his own. The other slipped quietly into his pocket. 

The chatter had slowed down consistently until only a few people were left, idling as they walked back towards their cars, or standing around looking at their cellphones. One or two other couples huddled together, talking slowly and softly. He pulled and pushed away from Nataly on their walk over, hand never letting go, and sometimes swung his arm along to some random tune that turned up in his mind. Their steps were languid and easy, all the way until Edward opened Nataly's door and then his own.

[NATALY]:

Nataly was tempted to tell him to forget all about it, gaze at the stars above and start humming, or even yank Edward over by his shirt collar and kiss him again. There were a myriad of things she could choose to do, all of them diversions that would keep him from responding to her sincere (if not a little self-deprecating) statement. They would be a little off the beaten path, spontaneous, and entirely true to her form.

She chose none of them. No matter how much potential she had to be let down, it wouldn’t be fair to interrupt her friend, which Edward totally was, first and foremost. She’d had a few flings in her teenage years, a few choice makeout sessions, a handful of times where she and a young man would engage in sloppy, tangled-mess-of-limbs-and-pleasure that took place in some dark basement corner. They werenice experiences, sure, and they taught her things about the wonders of the human body, but they held little substance.

The young woman tucked a white-blond curl behind her ear as she shifted forward, sliding along the rocky bank to submerge her feet in the water a little further. It was lukewarm, not as cold as she expected for a river, but relaxing nonetheless. She tried to hold on to the feeling as Edward formed a reply.

(It was easier to pick up nuances in his ‘speech’, now. The signs would become more deliberate whenever he wanted to place emphasis on something. Nataly took note of the fact that he was nearlysigning at her with the same speed he would Nadia. She gave herself a mental pat on the back. That goddamn robot phone voice, though she’d never admit it to Edward, was fucking weird.)

The tenseness in her shoulders gradually dissipated as the boy beside her explained his point of view. On the word ‘respect’, she felt her lips stretch into a smile wide enough to rival the Amazon.

“Goal achieved,” she echoed aloud. “And just to like, clarify—I’m totally not asking for any major commitments here. It’s good to know that you respect my feelings and boundaries. I like you. I likebeing around you. Kissing you?” She held her hand up in a so-so gesture, her face mocking “I guess it wasn’t completely horrible. I could go for a repeat.”

Nataly leaned over so that she was leaning heavily on her right leg and hand, her chin level with her shoulder and her face just a few short inches from Edward’s. Playfulness shone brighter from her eyes than the beam from the spotlights on the stage behind them. “So, we’re good?”

[ EDWARD ]:

"Very good." Edward allowed himself the brief answer.

There was a midway point between actually kissing Nataly and pulling back--the type of area that was defined by the warmth their mingling breaths created and was controlled by their willpower. Edward hovered there with his lips poised to press against the girl's again to try and take some of that starlight from her eyes. Energy that he was sure vibrated through all of Nataly's being so that everything about her was as vibrant as her action, as her words, as her voice, as her singing; he could've gone on and on then.

In the space of five seconds, where he lulled in that midway point, Edward made a surprising (to himself at the very least) personal choice. He could've pulled away and quirked an eyebrow. Answered smugly back with a, "Better rating gets an actual repeat." She drew that reaction from him, but this one--the one he actually took--was quicker. 

It had his heart beating out of his chest, his hand ignoring the stiffness of the smooth rocks at it steadied him where he leaned forward. Kissed her then, like he wanted to. Instead of teasing it, letting the cheekiness show--there would be time for that. When he could hug her and then linger back. A moment when he could lean in, to take in the sound of her laugh up close and then pull back and away. There were moments now, not yet lived, that he deemed nearly infinite (even though, rationally, they weren't).

Edward kissed at the 180 degree point, where he moved inversely to the feverish first touches he'd come to know from others--hands soon under shirts and skirts, in pants, grappling at belts and buttons; soft gasps against red puckered skin and quick nips of teeth bruising lips; he did none of that. He kissed slow and savored that--that being the moment. Nataly. The day. The action.

Stopped when he could press on. Let the low hum of the dissipating crowd behind them be just that; a constant, soft noise he could rest on as his heart threatened to beat right now.

[NATALY]: 

Nataly was much too flustered to make an attempt at looking Edward in the eye, so instead she focused on his hands. Still, this was a bad idea, for his words only made her laugh harder and her face turn a rosy pink. She shoved none too lightly at his shoulder before getting up to clap with the rest of the audience. Thankfully, their display of affection had gone largely unnoticed by the patrons around them – or at least, if it hadn’t, no one made a comment on it.

            The girl did her best to assure herself that if someone had said something, she would have been able to stop kissing Edward.

            …and then she felt her stomach do a backflip, her cheeks flush, the tingling sensation in her lips heighten, and she knew that screwing with the truth wouldn’t fool anybody.

            The conductor gave her final bow, and then whatever magic that held the audience spellbound and sitting still for two hours went up in smoke. The applause died down from a thunderous roar and transformed into the chatter of hundreds. It was a stark difference from the symphony they had been listening to earlier, but the sound of a happy crowd was music all its own. Nataly caught snippets of the conversations buzzing around them—“Oh, that was just lovely!” – “Antonia did so well as first chair violin, I’m so proud of her!” – but paid everything little mind. Her brain was still floating, even if her feet remained firmly on the ground.

            High on adrenaline, or endorphins or whatever (hell, any and all ecstasy-inducing hormones were swirling around in her bloodstream at the moment), Nataly reached behind herself for Edward’s hand. Loosely threading their fingers, she guided him out of the throng of concert goers, across the field and over to the creek where she ditched her shoes along the edge.

            As she sat down, a million and a half realizations hit her all at once – namely, the fact that her life wasn’t going to suddenly become a fairy tale, and she wasn’t about to score a prince and ride off into the sunset perched atop a stallion. That kiss probably meant something a lot different to Nataly than it did to Edward – a boy she knew to be a very physical kind of guy. Whether this night would lead to “heavy groping in the backseat” or whatever, she wasn’t sure, but she really had to know if there was any emotional intent behind it.

            She cleared her throat, opened her mouth to speak – and promptly shut it. Edward may have been the mute one, but she sure as hell left a lot of things unsaid. Dipping her toes into the water, she tried again:

            “So like, the end-goal of this night isn’t to steal my virtue, eh?” She snorted before she looked up from her hands and out at the water. And then, because she liked to torture herself, straight at Edward. “…because if all you’re looking for is, um, a friend with benefits – well, you’d be breaking my heart here, man.” 

[ EDWARD: ]

     The rocks at the edge of the creek had been smoothed over. Water, wind and time had worn the gravely and pointed edges to surfaces covered in worrying lines, in etchings and writing only a geologist understood. Edward worried a new rock--more of a pebble, oval and with a missing a chunk that had also gradually smoothed over time--between his thumb and forefinger. 

     If he could have spoken, right then--that creek, and the girl beside him, would have been audience to either a stuttering mess or a slow paced and nonsensical lecture. Nealon would be proud though, if he could write it. If he had a a pen and a pad, or if his hands could write words that appeared midair--only to leave when the thought was completed. His writing is leaps and bounds ahead of what he can say, voice or not. Still, if he had a voice...it would stick to his throat. When he swallowed, forefinger and thumb still worrying the pebble, it would roll down, down, down into his stomach. Cause a flurry of madness in there that would have caused his face to heat.

    Most of that still happened but it was a moment he felt was truly unavoidable in the awkward-lane. Emotions aren't that hard to consider, but they're hard to share. His dad was an open book within brunette-brood of the Smythes, but none of the other three would easily sign up to a share-and-care seminar. 

     Still, he was in an emotional moment. He had to say something. Had to be a bit more vulnerable than he would've been with anyone else. Edward wouldn't dare share it but he thought of Roland then; their relationship was, if ever quantifiable? 30% physical, 30% laughs and 40% emotion--the last shared through jokes, through looks, through touch. No movement on his part, no words on Roland's. 

       It was far easier but that's not what he wanted. Not with her. Not with Nataly. 

    Yards and yards behind them, people gathered and talked. About their lives, about the concert, about anything. They were too far for anything specific to float over to his ears but close enough that they formed a buzz of shouts and laughter, with an undercurrent of engaged chatter. Edward remembered a lot of things, when he took a moment to gather his thoughts (nearly each and every time, all the experiences gathered were so vivid that he wondered if that was only available when you lost something--maybe when you hadn't the thing at all), and then flicked the pebble. It skipped once, twice, and nearly three times--on the third it sank deep, where neither could follow it. 

     Edward's still-shoed (completely acceptable verb in his household) feet rested on a large rock in front of him, with the creek around the other side and moss at the ends he could see. He swallowed again, lost sight of that rock in an effort to just say something. Anything.

He turned then, though, and began. Slowly but surely. 

"The end goal of tonight is not missing a chance because I was a moron.--A blind moron, but still very much a moron. And I would not want a friends-with-benefits or a virtue thing," Edward emphasized. "Because one--see this whole physical look I have? I like it. Not broken and normal. And two, because I respect you more than that."

[ NATALY ]:

From the moment she had first touched a piano, music had been her salvation. It had provided the weary-eyed and frail girl she once was with the power to convert her moods into something productive,an almost-tangible thing that would take on a life of its own.

            When confronted with the fact that she could never write a symphony as wonderfully soul crushing as the one she was experiencing now, Nataly wasn’t envious so much as in absolute awe. She’d never spent so much time listening and experiencing a piece of music in her life – nearly two hours’ worth. The effect was unreal, like she had been lifted from her body, all worldly attachment notwithstanding. For those two hours she was above, soaring so high above the park grounds, immersed in the blend of sounds coming from hundreds of musicians—

            —but Edward always pulled her back down. Reality grasped at her in the form of the summer heat around her, causing the back of her legs to stick to the bench and hair to clump together at her neck. There was a light breeze every so often that would cause her skirt to ruffle and her bangs to wisp into her line of sight. These things hummed in the back of her mind, along with the presence of the young man beside her. He had an effect on her that was just as strong as the music, albeit in a completely different way.

            The music shifted. Backlit by the sunset and the brighter artificial lights, the conductor’s movements became more pronounced. Of anyone in the orchestra, she was hands down the one giving it her all – wildly curly hair floated around her head as she waved her arms with deliberate, fierce movement. Her hands cut through the air as if they were sharp knives. Nataly was transfixed.

            But then there was Edward again, placing a hand on her shoulder and pulling her back. The moon to her ocean tide. For a brief moment, Nataly was confused. Had she been leaning forward so much that she was about to fall off the bench (an actual possibility, sad as that seemed), or was he trying to tell her something?

            …and then he got closer.

                        And closer.

                        …his eyes shut and his head tilted and oh.

            It was a little awkward at first, due to the disconnect between her brain and mouth – still kind of opened in surprise, she did not fail to have a fumbling tongue those first few seconds. She’d always been the type to be quick to get her bearings, however, and when she did…

            …well, she couldn’t be held responsible for the places her hands would surely end up. A light switch went off somewhere inside her head and she was kissing him back, her own lips moving against his, one hand splayed against his bicep and the other quickly snaking around the back of his neck. Her heart raced at a tempo much faster than the music being played no less than thirty feet away from them, which had…actually…stopped.

            They’d kissed through the ending movement.

            As the crowd around them got to their feet to applaud, Nataly broke off the kiss, smiling so wide that her mouth hurt. She kissed Edward’s cheek, finding herself a little bashful in the midst of her euphoria.

“…we, uh, should probably get up and clap now.” 

[ EDWARD: ] 

     In a park, down the road, two blocks over, there was an apple tree. Big, with gnarling roots that seemed frozen mid-dive into the ground. When he was ten, he'd stood on one big twisted and upturned root, feet tilting front-to-back, front-to-back--and then a girl named Mallory, with brown eyes like maple syrup (he swore it back then; wasn't embarrassed to swear it now) kissed him. 

     He fell off and landed badly on his wrist.

    The rest of fifth grade had become a blur of moments after that, but sometimes Edward would drive by and stop at the park. In the middle of running errands or when he could sneak way from his family for a little bit (from everyone, really). He once thought to himself that he hoped to stop by a tree one day, after years and years, with a kid. Tell them how he fell right off a root because little Mallory Paek liked his striped polo-shirts. 

     He felt like that story was still valid--still had something to represent in his life.

     Edward felt it would be told once or twice.

      Although, this story--he felt it would be told until his son's nose wrinkled in disgust, or his daughter's. Until his grand-kids curiously looked up at him to ask for more stories.  

     There were obvious details he'd keep to himself but he knew what he'd start with. She kissed him back. It had taken a moment of pure anxiety--venturing into the unknown so-to-speak--before she'd reacted, and he smiled into the kiss. Kisses. Multiple occasions of mouth meeting mouth. The rather spontaneous plan had worked and if Nataly's arm around his neck was an indication, the results were met with enthusiasm. The world could've melted away then--and the young man remembered, how one night while he and Nadie watched the last bits of ice-cream melt at the bottom of their bowls, how she talked about her first real kiss. One that counted, she had said. 

     Her eyes had lit up then, no sadness in them as she spoke, "Ten minutes went by like that--you just...lose yourself. In the best way."       Edward quickly forgot the reason he and Nataly were even there, both sat on a pretty sturdy wooden bench as people clapped around them.

     "I'm sorry--what were we doing before this?" Was not the most appropriate answer but his face was flushed. Red hadn't started peeking out from his cheeks, it'd exploded. They burned, and he felt it but ignored it in favor of giving his best smile. He turned to look at the crowd around them while they clapped at the exhilarating performance they had just experienced.

[ NATALY ]: 

It was the same old song and dance, Edward coming to pick Nataly up for whatever excursion they planned. Two or three times a week, the young woman would power down three flights of stairs and rush outside to his pickup idling on the cracked pavement. It was nearly halfway through summer, and she expected by now that her nerves would dissipate – but lo and behold, sweat was blooming at the nape of her neck and back of her knees before she was even under the afternoon sun. Pausing in the lobby of the building, she pressed up against the wall and breathed deeply, muttering to herself all the while: “Calm down, you weirdo.”

          She clasped her hands over her rapidly beating heart, thumbing the necklace with the star pendant she’d always favored, and pushed off of the wall. Her signature grin was in place before she opened the door—

—whereupon she saw Edward leaning back against the driver’s seat of his car, and the affection she felt towards him bloomed in her stomach tenfold. Her enthusiastic smile was replaced with a softer one as she slid inside, leaning over the center console to envelop her friend (not date) in a tight hug. “Hi.”

Normally, she’d be talking a mile a minute about the orchestra, how they were set to play selected works by Mahler (something she’d affectionately referred to as ‘Gustav’s Greatest Hits’), how Nataly had never in her life seen more than ten musicians play at once, how she was so. Very. Excited. And while all of these things were very true, her sister’s words were still bothering her.

          She did know how amazing she was. Really.

          …or at least she knew how amazing Lou thought she was? The idea was just so confusing. She’d done such a good job of steadily ignoring her self-esteem issues over the years, and one comment from her sister had her subconscious puking them all up again. Amazing was the way she felt after a makeup haul that got her a thousand new looks for only $50. Amazing was the sound of brand-new strings on an acoustic guitar, it was staring up at fireworks that burst in Technicolor flame before her eyes on the 4th. The way Edward played piano or violin – that was amazing.

Nataly couldn’t even compete.

          She pushed those thoughts away as Edward’s truck barreled down the highway at a speed that would make a parent cringe. “You do know we’re gonna get there on time, right? Jeffrey there—“ Nat’s nickname for the voice that came out of Ed’s GPS, solely because it sounded so much like an old British man “—is pretty confident that we’ll be there in fooohhty-fiiiaave minutes.”

          …

          And then they were there, and Nataly was pretty sure she was going to cry.

          She was sure that compared to other performance spaces, it wasn’t impressive by any means. She had seen a variety of stages, auditoriums and amphitheaters in her lifetime, each ranging from small to large, crappy to immaculate. She’d heard music of all kinds from performers of all kinds – but never had she sat in on a performance from a symphonic orchestra, and that made her insides tingle from head to toe with a surge of energy that felt so special. The feeling grasped at the base of her throat, making it difficult for her to swallow. Instead, she grasped Edward’s arm and pulled him gently through the crowd of people (most of whom, if not all, appeared to be older than them) over to a vacant bench where there would be a nice view of the concert.

          Rows upon rows of empty chairs and music stands were assembled in arcs around the conductors’ podium, all of which were lit up with amber spotlights beaming down from the top of the amphitheater arc. The stone shell that loomed over the stage looked as if it would provide excellent acoustics, and Nataly felt excitement bubble up within all over again.

          “What do you thin—“ She began, but closed her mouth firmly once the first performers started to assemble onstage. She clutched Edward’s arm a little tighter. “Eeeeee! It’s starting!”

 [ EDWARD ]: 

     Alright, maybe he was speeding. Lead-foot was common in his case, and all in all it'd never troubled him  before (lie--there was an incident he and Veronica would never talk about again; Mr. Fuller's cat was never the same after it). There was a level of silence, a coating of silence over the music that filled the car--a new event that was only partially dissipated by a pale (paler, they compared one day, he runs around too much to remain anything other than 'lightly toasted--like warm, morning breadrolls' ) elbow to the forearm.        Then the tap-tap-tap of fingers on the dashboard, the rhythm familiar but not--bits and pieces of songs. some he knew and others he didn't, laced together. He had picked out certain parts, though. Transitions. There was something new there--and now there was another elbow in his side.

     Music on the radio changed throughout the journey; fed through his own ipod on the radio until the selection, or Nataly's energy waned enough that she plugged her own--which he'd once let fall off the top bench in the choir room (to his great panic and his friend's entertainment--damn thing was near unbreakable). While she shifted, again and again--to comment on their surroundings, on the event, maybe on his lead-footed ways (Her Jeffrey-esque comment was met with a twenty-minute run at twenty miles below the legal limit), they rode waves.

      Music on the radio to tap his fingers on the steering wheel to, to consider while Springfield drew nearer, while Nataly's unrest became so evident that Edward, for a moment, was glad to have no voice to add to the awkwardness. He didn't want to consider that lack of one served a similar purpose anyways. 

     Music to ignore his father's words and how they twisted at the very bottom of his stomach. They knotted there, heavily, even after the two had parked and waded through crowds of other attendees.

     Edward and Nataly sifted through the crowds, settled on the bench and kept up some chatter before the music began. They sat at the edge of a shore, Edward was sure, and the tides came in to wash over them--swiftly, maddeningly slow, quick as whips; until the boy was sure he wasn't sitting on a bench. Until his mind and the music melded so he could only appreciate what unfurled in front of him. Music was waves for him, at the best times, but he anchored himself deeply to something beyond it. Always afraid he'd become so lost reality would never come back.

      Maybe he had anchored himself to someone now, not something--not some abstract ideal.

    He remembered a man, with a long graying beard and a red vest, and how he had written deceptive cadence on a white board. How music can pull up from an edge--a cliff it carried one to, only for gravity to twist. Far beneath, the ground seemed to swell and everything turned--to take you higher. Just then, the music swells with the end. A thousand voices rose up into, what he surely felt, was the heavens.

   Thrust back to reality, his eyes wandered over to the girl beside him.

    He thought about the music.

    About that rainy day in Des Moines.

    His father's face. His laugh.

    All of that is well and good but when his eyes turned away from the orchestra, as they seemed to glow in unison up on that stage, and the many heads that took up space between them and the bench--when he turned away, sound still wrapped around his brain and heart like anchors, to find that new glow. Well, he thought of something new. Rapidly growing smiles. Bright, unabashed laughter. All things sudden or spontaneous. All things high and energetic. Rarely dull, and when slow still somehow electric. Like music swelling, like it taking your hand and stopping at a cliff--like it turning gravity upside down to only take you even higher.

     Edward didn't think about how a swift slap, a hard punch, a well-aimed kick in the scrotum could be the result of his action.

     All he thought of then was the possible result to his inaction. Maybe he was wrong, and they would both phase through a higher and clearer level of awkward. Maybe he was right, and he'd be a little less of an idiot than his dad. That smile though. That laugh. Pure light that glowed from a person, in ways he had never seen before--ways he had never thought real.

NATALY: 

"Got a hot date?"

            Nataly Trayford paused in between strokes of eyeliner, turning from the mirror attatched to her closet door to roll her eyes at her sister. Louisa stuck her tongue out in response before crossing the room and flopping down on the unmade bed. “He’s taking you to see an orchestra. You’re both — arguably — musical geniuses. Geniuses. Genii?"

            Nataly closed her right eye and began to fan it with her hand to dry the black liquid. “Pretty sure you can use either."

            “My sister, the AP English student. As I was saying: one orchestra plus two musical geniuses is approximately fifteen minutes of groping in the backseat of a car," Louisa’s eyes were fixed on the ceiling, but she didn’t have to look to see the indignation on her sister’s face, she could feel it.

            A makeup brush clattered to the floor. “Lou. Oh my god, shut up. You and I both know that this isn’t a date. It’s a free concert in the park—"

            "—in Springfield!—"

            "—and Ed and I are the only people in our friend group that would appreciate that sort of thing, so we’re going together. Just hanging out, like we’ve been doing all summer!" The girl ran a finger over her eyelids to check for smearing. "…and why the fuck are you so eager for us to bang, might I ask?"

            “I am never eager for my little sister to bang. Or even to canoodle." Louisa touched her fingertips in a manner that reminded Nataly of a business mogul — or better yet, a mob boss. “I’ve long-since accepted the fact that you aren’t a baby anymore, Squirt. You never were."

            Whether that was a comment on her maturity or lack of childhood, Nataly wasn’t sure. With an eyeshadow palette in one hand and a small brush in the other, she began to touch up the pewter-grey powder at the inner crease of her eyes. "…I don’t know if he likes me like that. I honestly don’t know." Irrational as that was, it still hurt to say aloud. The ache in the center of her chest hadn’t seized to exist over these past few months. If anything, it had only grown in size and intensity. She had it bad, bad, baaad (Van Halen references aside), and it wasn’t going away any time soon.

            …but she wasn’t, like, in loooooove or anything. No fucking way.

            The young woman twirled strands of her white-blond hair (stripping the old pink and orange had given her a fair amount of follicle damage) as she surveyed her appearance. Her face — well, it was as good as it was going to get. Summertime sun did nothing for her complexion but give her freckles, which she supposed looked cute coupled with the babydoll dress she was sporting. Plugging her curling iron into the wall, she waved it in the air a few times before she noticed Louisa staring at her with a sad, faraway look in her eyes. "…what is it now?"

            Lou sighed. “You have a really hard time seeing how amazing you are, Natty."

            “Pffft, whaaaaaat?" Nataly wrapped a section of hair around the barrel. “I’m kick-ass!" Release, watch the steam curl from the hair, part it again, new section. “The coolest of the cool." Repeat, repeat, repeat. “No idea what you’re talking about, buddy." Her cellphone started blaring from across the room. Nataly finished the rest of her hair with a deft hand, spraying it all down with the aerosol container of AquaNet that was bigger than her own forearm before slipping on her shoes. “Aaaaand I’m late! That’s probably Edward!" A quick swipe of the screen — it was. She started for the door. “Buh-bye now, Lou-Lou! Don’t wait up!"

            “Remember to use protection!" Lou quickly rolled off of the bed and began following her, a manic glint in her eye.

            “We’re going to see an orchestra!”

            “Those things have fifteen-minute intermissions! You never know what could happen!”

            “I bet one of the tuba players is totally packin’ heat,” Nataly snorted, grabbing her purse from the front hall and looping it over her shoulder. “They get tons of lays.”

            “So do the violinists, apparently.” 

…and into the bright afternoon sunlight she went, with that unneeded image in her head.

[ EDWARD: ]

"Horrible--what was your grandfather thinking?" 

    It was always easier to use his voice, but when it was just them his father's mouth kept the imitation of a tight-lipped man. Except--Edward had come to realize it wasn't tight-lipped at all. The man's mouth would fall too quickly into closing, and would never open unless particularly prompted by something else. He could remember then, as his father loosened his tie and compared it to others in a drawer, a time when he called it catching silence. 

    It took five years but his son came to understand that catching the silence was just how his father coped (because no one could lie--his family had to cope a lot).  

     "No ties." Sebastian decided, and folded up the rest of them--in the annoyingly neat way his son could rarely imitate. "Come on. Let's make you a little presentable."     Edward had enough class to raise an eyebrow before he rolled his eyes. He watched the expression reflected in his father's face as the man reached over to smooth out his hair, fix the back of his collar, and had him move his arms to roll up the cuffs. Flashed the a-ok sign before he sat back in the rolling office chair--previously owned by Veronica. Sebastian pulled his sock-covered feet up, rested them on the edge of the bed. Edward sat on the very edge and pulled his feet up, shined shoes on an untouched part of the seat.

    "Nervous?" 

     Yes. There were swells in his stomach. Hundred foot waves crashed into his middle, inside where his hands could not reach to quell it. 

      "Not at all."

       "Not even for your first date in a little while?" 

        "Not. A. Date." Edward fell back on the bed after that, irritation evident in his face. He only looked back up when Sebastian gave a smug chuckle. 

      "Did I tell you," Sebastian began slowly; he picked his words carefully, more for himself than Edward. "About the time your father realized he was an idiot. A-plus, first class." 

    He received a slow shake of the head.

    "It was raining in Des Moines once. We--your dad and I--were there in the middle of a spontaneous and spiritual road-trip. It was raining too hard to leave, and we were cooped up. Rented a few movies, ate our weight in junk food." Sebastian's shoulders deflated, his right hand fingers tapped out a rhythm on the armrests. "College...was a very hard time. Emotionally, for your dad and I stood by him. Always. I fell in love with your dad years before he saw me. Through me." 

       The smile on his face was the widest Edward had ever seen it, reserved for him or Veronica when they had accomplished something of immeasurable worth (another title under their belts, excellent report cards, their first recitals). He swallowed and it disappeared but he continued, "I was completely content with being his friend. I had..decided that there wasn't a way for your dad to see me that way. That I could stay...by his side without complaining. But we're Smythes. We have big mouths."       

        Edward's huff didn't go unanswered. Another smile for that, "He was complaining, about his life and his lack of love life and how he had no idea what he wanted to do at all, and I just thought: You can't see me here. Waiting for you. Hoping that, in some way, you would feel for me--like I did.. Big fucking mouth. I said it. Didn't think it. Didn't realize I had until your dad was suddenly in my face. All this time, you jackass, he said, all this time--you never said a word. How could I?" 

       The man leaned forward and his hand found Edward's cheek--thumb rubbed over the side. His eyes glistened just a bit, with all the knowledge he'd ever wanted to pass to his son and what he'd managed to already. Edward coughed and blinked heavily, the sudden prickling in his eyes didn't disappear with the motion.

      "Why are you telling me this?" Edward asked the obvious. Afraid of the answer he already knew. 

      "Because...I didn't live up to the family name then. Let your dad make the choice." They both laughed. "I like that girl. She's got a good head on her shoulders."

       Edward kept the memory of his face flushing--of his father as he laughed and kissed his forehead. Hugged him and sent him on his merry way--called down the hallway, towards the second-floor family room, about how the rest of them owed him $100 now. He had dodged, just barely, a tackle. 

        [ text ;; nataly ] ready to go? outside. Springfield awaits.

[Nataly]: 

He was holding her haaaaaand. He was holding her hand with his amazing pianist/violinist fingers that she kind of wanted him to touch her all over with but more importantly he was holding her hand and it was awesome.

Nataly contained the urge to squeal aloud (she would end up doing that later, in her own home, in the company of her older sister who would listen to her play-by-play of the night with equal parts enthusiasm and annoyance). Her insides were doing that uncomfortable flutter-twitch-flip-over-and-wiggle thing that she wasn’t sure if she quite liked yet. 

Edward either had something very important to show her, or he didn’t want her to say hello to his parents, because the young man was practically pulling her arm off in an effort to get her down to the basement. Before she could completely finish a, “Nice to see you too!”, she was taking the stairs two at a time, down to the Smythe’s just-as-impressive-as-the-rest-of-their-house basement music room. She had been down there only once before, on Thanksgiving, when they’d disappeared for an hour or so and Nataly almost cried at the sight of a Les Paul. 

It felt like a dream to walk in there once again. Her face was repeated six times across the wall along the ballet barre, which she grabbed on a whim and rose onto one foot. She stuck her right leg out in the air, turning her other foot perpendicular to the bar and bending a little, imitating practically every ballerina she’d ever seen on TV. Nataly dropped back onto both feet with a grin, shuffling over to where Edward was standing in front of the piano. Easing him onto the bench, she nodded throughout his explanation — which she only caught about three-quarters of — and gestured encouragingly to play. 

And he did. 

The first thought that crossed Nataly’s mind when the music started was an overwhelming amount of warmth. The song wasn’t happy, exactly, but something about it made her think of hope. She closed her eyes and listened, her shoulders slumping and the muscles in her back beginning to relax. The music felt like a plunge in a tropical ocean — whether that was because of the material being played or its interpreter, she wasn’t sure. 

Nataly found herself reaching with her right hand, skimming over ivory keys, waiting for a chance to join in. When she felt she had a grasp on what she wanted to play, she pressed down, improvising a harmony on the spot. While she loved hearing her friend play, collaboration was a whole new ballpark. 

Soon, she added her left hand, hovering in the two highest octaves. Out of reflex, the corners of her mouth curled into a smile. She felt freer, unburdened, and she hoped that the boy sitting next to her did as well.

[ Edward ] ;;

Maybe his fathers had been laughing as they made their way down to the basement, the door not shutting fully behind them and their feet stomped down the staircase--maybe Veronica was giggling with them. Their house was less tense these days, and the amount that clung to his shoulders disappeared with each new note taken.

He could think while playing. He could see worlds. Colors and sights born of sound and mind but he could think clearly--and he figured something out as Nataly began, not shy but meticulous. 

The realization bubbled up. Came into existence with the steadiness most realizations didn't have. There was no nausea or queasiness with it--only a content hum. She brought it. The energy. Loosened his shoulders. Injected energy into their normally quiet home. A redhead with pink streaked hair and a grin just this side of mad. 

It was wonderful.

The moment echoed back to the first time that they played together--Edward playing in the midst of trying to prove that he wasn't his aphasia; that there was someone behind the label and that he could show that if just given the chance. Nataly answering with her own music, and her smile.

    Time stopped. Everything stopped. It was just them and their music. Melodies that      

    intertwined and fused to become one. 

Just like that--like it was nothing. Like it was effortless and seamless--because it was just like that. He played, she complimented, and along the way he adjusted his own playing to match hers and she'd change, and he'd change, and they became a circle. Wonderfully casting sound into the air. The notes filled the room and the bench trembled, Edward swore it did, along with their playing. There was a smile that he couldn't fight and didn't. Crept up on his face and plastered itself there as his emotions poured over his skin. Goosebumps struck the nerves along his uncovered arms until there were rows and rows of them. 

[NATALY]:

It gets…easier, Nataly signed, her brow furrowed with a mix of equal parts concentration and concern. Not knowing the actual sign, she spelled out the word as well. P-a-i-n. Any kind. Little by little, easier to…m-a-n-a-g-e. You will…r-e-c-o-v-er. God knew she was doing her best, these days.

I am glad to s-e-r-v-e a-s a…distraction. A glimmer of a smile crossed Nataly’s face. The platonic feelings outweighed the lesser-than ones at the moment. She cared for Edward, truly, as a friend, and it made her bubble up with a bit of hope to know that she was helping somewhat. She took a long drag from her water, leaving a pale-pink lipstick mark around the rim. She noticed that she was always leaving messes or splotches of color wherever she went. Her makeup always managed to smudge on the oddest things — eyeliner on her pens, blush at the bottom of her backpack. Brown, pink, indigo, orange. Her disguise of sorts, constantly leaving a reminder that it was, in fact, artificial. 

The rest of her pizza lay untouched as she found herself no longer hungry. She leaned back against the granite counter tops, noticing for the first time that the silence around them was starting to feel comfortable. The Smythe house, while spacious and still a little scary, was just beginning to feel a little less cold and a little more homey. The house did have its personal touches: family pictures were scattered about (though there were a few posed ones — matching cardigans? Really?), someone’s shoes had been left in the hallway. Compared to their Thanksgiving party, where everything was pristine and silver and immaculate, the house looked much more lived in. It belonged to a family. 

And it was for that reason alone why Nataly was so envious of him, sometimes. 

Am I doing…ok? She signed, finding it just as hard to concentrate, but noticing that her hands were more cooperative. I’ve been t-e-a-c-h-i-n-g myself with the internet, but it is better with your c-r-i-t-i-q-u-e.  

[ Edward ] ;;

People have gone t-h-r-o-u-g-h  worse and survived. That smile was something to latch on to. Peeking out from the expression of pure concentration that she wore. When it became easier she would smile—he knew that. Suddenly he wanted to see that more. Maybe a little less phone, and a little less notepad should be involved in his life. ASL wasn’t his language but it was helping bridge a gap between them.

…and while, again, it wasn’t his, he could always use the one he had; his true mother tongue, so to speak. Edward began packing the boxes up—made sure most of the pizza was where kept away from wayward insects and dust by being fitted in their proper boxes; glasses in sink; paper plates tossed away in the trash. Edward took Nataly’s hand—gently and then all at once—to tug her away from the kitchen. 

“We are hooome! Three hours at Ikea. I don’t want to look at another ottoman again.” Sebastian huffed. He shrugged off his coat and hung it on the rack by the door. Veronica was already greeting Blaine warmly, and when the man caught sight of his son leading a familiar bouncy mostly redhead down the hall, he laughed, “Did you leave us anything at all?”

Edward stopped short of entering the den and quickly signed, Hi! Welcome back. I love you. We will be in the basement! Call if needed! The two stormed down the stairs to the music room with Sebastian’s voice echoing in the den behind them, “It’s nice seeing you again Ms. Trayford!”

Once inside the music room Edward approached the piano but hesitated at sitting down. He scratched the back of his neck, a heavy weight settling into his gut as he wondered if he’d have any inspiration to play at all. The seventeen year old addressed Nataly then, I haven’t played in a week or two. A sheepish smile. Or three. Except at school, but I don’t want to stop. 

He rolled his shoulders. Saying it—or rather singing it—was giving life to the words no therapist saw from him. There was always a bit of shame at  expressing the thought.

[NATALY]: 

He was not taking his shirt off. 

The muscles in his back and shoulders were not well-defined and chiseled from fucking marble. 

Nataly did not want to rip her pants off. 

While all of these things remained a total, complete, definite impossibility, the young woman stopped oogling Edward through the half-open door long enough to clean up the bathroom counter and throw away any leftover bleach and gloves. ‘Pull it together, Natty, you’re a lovesick puppy.’ Her cheeks were brighter than her hair as she walked swiftly from the room, shaking her head. 

She would have liked to blame her difficulty in finding the kitchen due to her raging hormones, but she knew it was mostly the fact that Ed’s house was really fucking big. After making a wrong turn into two different rooms (who the hell had a den these days, seriously), she managed to find Veronica. And pizza. 

“Right on, right on,” she chanted, fist pumped once in a solemn salute before she helped herself to a slice of mushroom and 3-cheese. “Water’s just fine, thank you,” she replied, eyes fixed on Edward’s head, surveying her work. “You sure you’re satisfied? I could take a little more off the top…” she reached up while he was eating, mussing his hair the way she saw fit. “Eh, we’ll see how it looks when it’s dry.” The pink-haired girl devoured her first slice before reaching for a second. “Okay, when I’m a stylist I’m getting paid in pizza, it’s decided.” 

She took a sideways glance at Ed, once again noticing the circles under his eyes. A pang of unease shot up from her stomach, causing her to grimace slightly.

Then she got an idea. 

“Okay, I’ve been practicing my ASL, don’t make fun of me,” she began, setting her plate down before cracking her knuckles. The two-handed signs were always the hardest — and the topic she was going to address wasn’t exactly simple. ‘I’m worried about you.’ She signed, back turned to his sister, hands moving slower than Edward’s would when signing at her. ‘How have you…’ she rolled her eyes at herself, choosing to spell out the rest with the alphabet. ‘-b-e-e-n h-o-l-d-i-n-g u-p?’

[ Edward ] ;;

If there was ever a moment where he wanted his sister out of the room then it was then. She was telepathic at time, he would swear to that, and he didn't have to look up to know she was already packing up to go. There would be questions later, when Nataly was gone and Edward sat on his bed looking at the ceiling as if it would give him all the answers. 

"And that is my cue to leave." Veronica placed the glass of water--sweating with cubes of ice floating unsteadily in it--in front of Nataly and smiled. She reached for a slice of pepperoni and salami, then grabbed her glass of orange juice and saluted on her way out. 

Edward put down his glass of coca-cola down but his eyes remained trained on Nataly's hands. His smile grew with each new one, and when she spelled out the rest it brought back memories of his sister--of a frustrated Nadia--learning the language. Although, he never considered it his language. People would cling to their native tongue; it was theirs. When asked they could say they grew up with it and felt it in their bones. From the womb. Sign language wasn't his. It was like writing on a laptop or on paper. It wasn't his language because other than his hands moving there wasn't any true way to connect to it.

Not like music.

Not like the hum that his fathers claimed beat in the womb of his mother--they made sure t expose him to the wonder of symphony (and Ray Charles) from the moment they were told he developed ears.

There was still a sense of pride in Nataly learning. Even when her words were slow, as all beginner's were, she was catching on quick. Not as good as I want to be. Edward answered with steady hands and a slower pace. Too much work. Too many thoughts. Some--He faltered with a pinched expression but carried on. Spelled out the word rather than fully sign it because breaking it down felt easier. More manageable. P-a-i-n.

[NATALY]: 

“…am I interrupting your nap, there?” Nataly teased, expertly snip-snip-snipping a section of Edward’s hair. The color had come out exactly the way she wanted it — cutting it into a style she knew he’d like, however, was a little tricky. The majority of haircuts she’d given were to girls, and a large amount of those were to herself. She took quite a bit of hair off the sides, choosing to shape the top and front rather than get rid of all the length. Like she had mentioned earlier, the dye had stripped the ends of his hair pretty well, causing the ends to split and fray. Humming along to whatever song was playing, she surveyed her progress every so often, tapping the silver shears (hers; she’d swiped them from a sewing kit some years prior) against her hand. 

It was easy to let her mind wander, once she knew what she was doing. She thought back to her most recent counseling session with O’Leander, funnily enough. The sixteen-year-old had been able to sit through their meeting without so much as a smart remark or the desire to flee. Perhaps it was because they had stuck to innocuous topics — the impending summer vacation, her favorite TV shows, how she was getting along in classes. Nataly had briefly voiced her concerns over the warmer weather — she’d been able to get away with shirts that covered her shoulders the last month or so, but glee rehearsals were getting hotter and hotter under the bright auditorium lights, and she would have liked to exchange her raglan tee for a much cooler tank top. The problem with that, however, were her scars. 

Two dozen or so circular marks dotted her upper back, starting from where her bra straps normally fell and moving inward. Although they had all since healed since…she had gotten them, they shone up raised, rough, and darker than her natural skintone. It would be difficult to explain them, as they were clearly burns, but they were obviously not self-inflicted. Somehow, horribly, she wished they were. 

Nataly noticed that her hands were shaking. 

She set her scissors down on the counter next to the sink, and threaded her fingers through Edward’s nearly-dry hair. Everything looked even, and she couldn’t feel or see any more split ends, so she declared him—

“—done!” She brushed the hair off of his shoulders and into the bathtub. “C’mon, tell me what you think.” 

[ Edward ] ;;

Edward's smile twisted into a smirk at her words and he shrugged. Stretched his arms and pretended to be lifting himself up from a well-needed cat-nap. Truth be told, just being there, he probably would've fallen halfway asleep at least.

If he styled it right, created the uplift he liked at the very forefront of his head, the surfer-style jokes would be never-ending. It was brighter than before, where the original dye had left him with locks leaning more to auburn this dye left them honeyed. A look he quite enjoyed--long enough that he could tug at it a bit, short enough that it wouldn't contribute to too much sweating in the coming summer heat. Edward shook his head from side to side a bit, and splattered the mirror with a light smattering of water. In the reflection he could see Nataly and so he turned to sign, Love it. Thank you. His smile grew wider. You are a genius. 

He brushed off a stray hair or two here and there. "It starts in my toes, then I crinkle my nose--" Veronica's self-assigned ringtone echoed about the bathroom. Edward fished his phone out of his pocket and answered--he listened to the sound of his sister's voice announcing that their Friday-Deliver-Feast had arrived. He used the phone to type out a message, which the phone quickly transferred and voiced: Dinner is served. I'm going to switch  shirts quickly so I will see you downstairs. With that in mind he retreated to his room and his hand absentmindedly pushed the door behind him. It was left ajar, the sound of Edward digging through his trunk filtered in. He pulled his wet v-neck over his head and tossed it into a pile (known as for laundry by him and as a mess by his dad); tossed the socks as well and settled for sandals. The young man tugged a yellow and white tank over his head, creating an unruly mess in his newly-dyed hair in the process, and waltzed down the stairs to see--

"--pizza, pizza, pizzaaaa. God bless these Fridays." Veronica taking a few steps around the counter in the kitchen, similar to the one's one would take for a simple foxtrot. Slice of mushroom and three-cheese pizza in hand, she trotted all the way to the fridge. "Father and Daddy dearest will be a little late but will be here. So don't finish off all the hawaiian-slices."

[NATALY]: 

Nataly couldn’t help but feel a rush of pride whenever she understood what Edward signed at her. She acknowledged that was a little juvenile – millions of others were able to communicate via ASL, it wasn’t exactly special for her to know it. Still, it meant that she was improving. The signs seemed so much more personal than the (creepy) robot voice on Ed’s phone, or even his crooked handwriting. He could respond immediately to her with sign language, instead of the awkward lull that occurred whenever he had to take the time to write something else. It wasn’t too much of a hindrance, however. Regardless of the form(s) of communication involved, Edward had her interest piqued a good 90% of the time.

Letting him pay for the hair products was, surprisingly, less uncomfortable than she thought it would be. She figured that it was because the items wereto be used to make him look (more) awesome, but nevertheless, she found herself shifting from foot to foot uncomfortably throughout.

…the donuts, however, were very much appreciated.

…

“Your sister’s pretty cool,” Nataly commented. “Also, I’m one of those weirdos who likes mushroom pizza, so hate on me.” She had made quick business with mixing the lightening powder and developer (for about 0.3 seconds, she thought she had bought the wrong one, and her subsequent stream of curses was rather impressive) and proceeded to brush and comb the substance through his hair for the ten minutes necessary to cover his head. Veronica was candid and lively, something that she and Edward had in common. The Smythe pride (which the girl had quickly come to learn was actually a thing) was apparent as well.

She’d thrown every window in Edward’s room and the bathroom they were in open in order to combat the strong scent of hair bleach. His twenty minutes of waiting for the chemicals to take effect (with any luck, he’d end up with a warm honey color) were almost up, and although the bathroom was large – like every room in the house – the smell was harsh. With little protest from her friend, Nataly’s iPod was hooked up to the stereo, blaring whatever self-declared ‘sweet jams’ she was obsessed with lately.  

Catching sight of herself in the vanity mirror, Nataly almost laughed. Latex gloves in place and bright-pink/orange haired pulled back, she appeared to be right in her element. Her phone ‘ding!’-ed from its place next to the sink, signaling that it was time to rinse, and she gestured for Ed to lean back in his chair. With gentle hands, she eased his head back into the rush of warm water from the sink and began to massage his scalp. “Alright, dude, we’re halfway done. Let’s get that shit out of your hair, my eyes are starting to burn.”  [ Edward ] ;;

Edward stuck his tongue out, and left the appendage loll a bit as he quickly texted his sister. She answered back with a 'Mushroom + 3cheese pie for us!!!'.  Inside his room he let Nataly set up how she liked, only busied himself with toeing off his sneakers, switching to a new pair of socks and tossing the backpack onto the bed. The moment of sweet rest when his back met the still-strewn comforter of the bed was interrupted by the immediate task ahead.

Blonde-ifying. A term coined by his pops after the first time he chose to get it done. The man had been relentless in his teasing--and his son understood why (Sebastian had a thing about tradition sometimes, as nontraditional as his family was; he missed the Smythe locks).  He was in little a mood to complain--it was almost like being at one of those spa treatments Veronica so eagerly wanted to drag him to (he relented only once, and that's because the masseuse was a beautiful brunette with a bit of a tinkle in her laugh; also twenty-five. A person could dream.). Edward closed his eyes, the thin lines on his face from bending back relaxing through Nataly's ministrations. 

His eyes narrowed, because with all the light in the room and the bit of mist from the water slapping against the sink, the girl's face was a bit brighter. There was a glow, but he knew it wasn't something out off the usual; not mundane or routine but it was an essential part of her. Probably made up Nataly's DNA, to look warm and inviting as she continued to work.

He swallowed and closed his eyes again, brown furrowed for a moment when the warm feeling gave way to the faded echo of nausea he'd been battling for the last few days. Which was completely unplanned and this was not the way things were meant to be going right now, he needed to breat--

[NATALY]:

“A word of warning,” Nataly advised as she got out of Edward’s car and all but ran to the entrance of Lima Beauty Supply. “I might just lose my shit. Poor impulse control.” She turned to face him, mischievous smile in place. “I’m Alice, and this is Wonderland.”  

Beauty supply stores were like her crack. This place was a godsend, compared to the 3-4 aisles in Cincinnati’s ever-so-classy Wal-Mart. Instead of scouring dirty shelves for overpriced NARS and Clinique products that would only match her skin tone if she was lucky, high-quality makeup and hair dye would be leaping off the stands and into her arms — at least, that’s what she told her sister when she first hauled $70.00 worth of products home (“..um, oops?”).   

She turned on her heel and walked right inside, making a beeline for the hair aisle. At least, that’s what she tried to do. For about three seconds. 

“Oooh! New Urban Decay palettes ” Excitedly, she walked over to the display of new releases, picking up a UD6 eyeshadow set at random. The colors were vibrant, eye-catching — just the sort of crazy that Nataly gravitated towards. 

“Bright, aren’t they?” One of the girls who worked the register — a young woman with killer blue bangs that Nataly had complimented on more than one occasion — had appeared at her side. “They’re buy-one, get-one-50%-off for the new releases. Great quality, too — I’m rocking Electrick Shock today.” She closed her eyes, revealing a shade of cerulean that matched her hair. 

Nataly beamed. “Gorgeous.” She flipped the palette over and her eyes nearly fell out of her head at the price. “…but not today. Ed,” she turned to her friend, gesturing towards the back of the store. “Let’s go make you pretty.” 

She made quick work of selecting the products she would need. “We’re gonna bleach it before we cut it, because this stuff,” she held up the tub of powder lightener and tube of creme developer. “—despite what it says on the bottle, is gonna split all the ends it can find.” Along the way, she grabbed a box of gloves and a comb, tossing them for Edward to catch. 

“Is this everything?” The cashier from before (Brenda, apparently, according to the name tag) questioned when the teens set their purchase down on the counter. “I saw you checking out the NARS ‘Gluttony’ polish, too. The Key Lime Pie would look so good on you,” she suggested, smirking. 

Nataly stopped herself from making a face. Sure, she’d love to go on a shopping spree, but part of the fun in ‘beauty-on-a-budget’ was the whole, well, budget thing. “Don’t tempt me, girl,” she joked easily, grabbing her wallet (made from the finest purple duct tape) from her pocket. “I’m making others look good today, not me.” She looked at Edward. ‘…even if he’s a goddamn Greek god already.‘ 

[ Edward ] ;;

He smiled--if the shop was Wonderland then he was Alice. Nataly was neither the Queen nor the speedy white rabbit, always terribly late. With her vibrant hair, matching style and truly off-kilter personality, she was better than any other Mad Hatter could even dream of being.

Her face was similar to his in Donatello's, a local music shop at North Hills Mall (the owner called him whenever there were new violin cases; all velvety soft within and professional outside). The woman at the counter, electric-blue curls around her heart-shaped face, seemed to have good rapport with her as well--repeat customer? Edward entertained himself by studying a shelf advertising hair relaxer. He put the bottle right back when the risks listed scalp-related injuries and chemical burns. The things people did in the name of beauty..

...and she was tossing things at him. The young man caught them swiftly but tripped over a wayward bottle of hairspray and only managed to recover some of his dignity in picking them back up. He nodded along to Nataly's explanation, and then rearranged the products in his hands so as to be able to simply sign: Trust you. 

Edward nudged Nataly with his elbow--hand placing his personal ATM card on the table; he folded his hands at the edge of the counter for good measure (mostly because money matters were a bit odd for him--he'd had rows with Nadia over covering lunch checks before). Still, he only turned to sign a slow but sure, I got it to the girl beside him (and hoped that, unlike his ow sibling on occasion, she wasn't vocal about her distaste). Plus the tools of Nataly's trade were for the benefit of his unruly locks. Might as well covering the cost of purchasing them.

He handed control of the radio over to her once in the pick-up, leaving the plastic beauty-salon bag in the back. Luckily, the place was close to a nearby Krispy Kreme and it was nearly 5:15pm. Optimal donut munching time. So maybe they cruised by for two separate cases of a half-dozen each.

[NATALY]: 

Nataly turned so that she was wrapped around the back of the rolling chair, arms crossed and holding on to either side. As Edward wrote his reply — ‘entertaining her insanity’, she liked to think of it — she kept quiet, choosing to watch his hands. It was kind of a thing for her — and not in a creepy, fetish-y way. Moreover, it was a silent awe — he had a pianist/violinist’s fingers, that was for sure. Strong tendons and smooth skin jumped and stretched with each flick of the wrist, each stretch of the digits. Callouses topped each fingertip on his left hand — she’d noticed them that one time he grabbed her forearm to keep her from tripping. In the back of her mind, she’d often wonder how those callouses would feel  tracing the side of her cheek, her lips, her— 

…well, fuck. Maybe it was a little fetish-y. 

She narrowed her eyes when he revealed his own list, ‘hmm’-ing and giggling a here and there. She gasped dramatically at #3 (“Henderson?! You wouldn’t dare.”), ‘Awww!’-ed internally at #4, and had an evil smirk forming on her face midway between 5 and 6. “Oh, dearest, darlingest, Eddie-boo. I know you’re in denial, but I’m talking about this—” she reached forward and gently clasped the front part of his hair. While well-groomed, it was long enough for Nataly to brush it down past his eyes and just over the bridge of his nose. “Listen, Fabio, it’s time for a trim.” 

She continued, swinging her legs back and forth, as she couldn’t touch the floor with her feet. “You’ve got a few blond tips as well, which, if you’d like, we can do away with entirely, or bring back the color. As you can see—” she gestured to her own technicolor locks “—I’m kind of an expert.” 

Nataly bit her lip, worried that she was being a little pushy. More than anything, she wanted her friend (her best friend — a sentiment that made her feel a little more than fuzzy inside) to have fun for once, instead of being alone with his thoughts for too long. She knew that feeling all too well. Even so, she pressed on: “…I won’t make you look too beautiful, I promise. Have to save some of that talent for myself.” 

[ Edward ] ;;

His hair was not that long.

Edward was offended. 

His pride was wounded.

Officially wound--well, he couldn't see past the hair Nataly tugged over in front of his face. Maybe it was time for a bit of a trim. His fingers came up, brushed only slightly against Nataly's as he pushed the hair back but it was too late. The tufts were unruly as ever, the tough hair sticking up slightly. He studied himself in the dark reflection of his phone's glass surface--where he couldn't see the weary lines around his semi-sunken eyes but he could see the shape of his hair--and then mock frowned; lips tugged downward but he relented. 

There was always room for improvement and if he had to spend another night playing 'hide-from-your-thoughts- it was better to do it with Nataly there. Someone whose very presence was an active distraction helped him. Edward's hands were already flipping to the next page of the notepad as the other carried on. Beside them, he could hear a minor squabble between Moira and Nadia ("We cannot do another VVB number! " "We need a floor-stomping mid-set song. I'm Crying Blood would be great." "Yes, if the Warblers weren't working on a VVB song already!" ) and he turned a bit in his seat--avoiding eye contact was optimal unless you wanted to find yourself pulled in. That would only ever lead to a rift and while they took time to pick apology songs, sing them and then come to an agreement, it'd be another week of headaches that no one wanted.

He held the pad up once he was done: