She has Saria by the throat with just a look, fist closed over her heart, eyes boring into her like sunlight through pointed glass. It burns so often.
Saria stares back into the shadows. She has no answer they want to hear.
They're in the car at a drive-in theatre, watching a film she's never seen, drinking soda she's never heard of, feeling tension she's never felt. She cannot know what has changed, only that it's wedged itself between their seats, stifling the air.
Muelsyse places a single piece of popcorn onto her tongue and lets it melt before taking it into her mouth. Saria looks away abruptly.
“You mean the movie? The plot?”
Muelsyse pauses chewing, a waver in her breath. “Yeah.”
“I think—” Truth be told, Saria hasn't really been thinking at all, hasn't been paying attention. Within the metal confines of her car, every sound is amplified, every movement obvious. Hair strands, clothing creases, hands, hands, hands.
“Right… Makes sense…” Muelsyse answers vaguely to whatever Saria says, eyes glazed over at the giant screen ahead.
Saria thinks she needs a cigarette. Or a drink. She turns up the air-conditioning, hoping it will chill her nerves.
From the corner of her eye, in an adjacent car, she realises there is a couple kissing, no longer interested in the film either. She glances over as the movie lighting changes, flashing and flickering scenes, each time revealing snippets of motion through the blanket of night: silhouettes of an arm, a shoulder, a jawline. Things not even the dark tint of their windows could not obscure. Of course not. Then, silence.
The action has subsided on screen and all that remains are two shadows closer than ever. She sees it, almost feels it, when their bodies begin rocking.
“Nice,” Muelsyse comments, crunching on more popcorn. She's peering over Saria's shoulder with a playfulness that's been sorely missed tonight.
Saria doesn't jump, doesn't feel embarrassed, simply turns to take Muelsyse’s hand out of the container, holding it aloft.
What was the point of anything?
Air unfurls from their lungs in soft breaths. So close. Could be closer. Should be closer. Saria lowers her gaze, ever guarded, and it seems to say, blink slowly.
Saria inspects the hand, stained with traces of butter, and brings it to her lips. She licks a finger, bites a knuckle, tastes the savoury and the sweet. Muelsyse's breath hitches at the sudden contact. Darkness settles, leaving only the dimmest lights to dance about the space, tunnelling their vision. Languid touches keep them occupied when words aren't necessary. Muelsyse only watches, letting Saria kiss her slender wrist. Once. Twice.
“Mine?” she asks, speaking of a place.
“Yours,” Saria says, speaking of a secret.
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