#including mine

The once-dissonant chord evolves into a familiar melody. It's one of your favorite songs. Ever since he figured out how to play the hook by ear, it's become one of his go-to jams. Whenever he plays it, he improvises some of his own riffs over the parts he hasn't memorized yet.

His pick scrapes across the string, tossing a layer of grit over the smooth strumming. You haven't moved your finger from where you poked him, so you can feel the slight pull of his muscle as he plucks the string. "I don't think much about him. I don't know him." The song warps around Zali's fingers. Your muted humming blends in with his guitar. "All I can tell is that you like the feeling of being wanted."

“Go on.”

"Pursuing someone is only fun when they like you back. But he seems distant." Zali hesitates, letting a chord ring in the air as he thinks. As it resonates, he peers at you. You can see the sunlight in closed-blinds stripes against his eyes, crossing in shades of ochre. "You like spending time with him, but it’s hard to get his attention, so you have to convince him you're worth his time. His loss. Anyone in their right mind would enjoy your company."

You let out a short exhale like a laugh. "I think you lost the plot."

With all the confidence of a tenured professor, Zali declares, "Either he needs to step up, or he has no taste."

His fingers press down on the same frets, repeating the previous note. His eyelashes flutter closed. "But you barely described this person, so I'm uncertain what category he falls under."

"Did too."

"That told me nothing."

"It's his personality." You prop yourself up into a proper sitting position, leg flush along the body of his guitar. "He's fun to be around."

"You're supposed to point out what makes them so appealing."

"I already did."

"Should I provide a better example?"

"Such as?"

"Such as attentiveness. You are very attentive."

"Mm."

"You're sweet." The song softens. "And I like the way you think. You're very thoughtful of everything you do."

Zali's arm pauses, letting the last note hang with his hands over above the strings, uncertain. It's only now that you realize he's made no move to shake your hand off his sleeve.

“You are a very appealing person, Reader.”

Whoever leaned in first no longer matters. The memory had gone out the window along with your breath, not to mention your common sense. Zali lowered the neck of his guitar to get closer, but your hand clutched the fabric of his shirt. There were two guilty parties behind this kiss.

Regardless, innocence bleeds through. Chaste. The first kiss is pure enough, but curiosity begs further investigation once the initial surprise wears off. The curve of Vezalius’s lip is as smooth as the tuning on his guitar.

Now that the guitar wasn’t in the way, you could place your hand on Zali’s cheek. You peek out from drooping eyes, slowly losing your senses aside from pressing lip to lip. You refuse to address the jumble of emotions. If you let logic color your thoughts, they’ll splatter over the living painting in front of you. Rose-tinted cheeks. A mouth dragging watercolor. Dark hair brushes along your fingertips and his cheek, matching his eyelashes drawn in charcoal. Those lashes and the stitched scar give way to golden filigree as Zali cracks open his eyes.

You remember who this is.

Skimming along the heat of his blush, you savor the next kiss—you’ve lost count. A hand rests on your shoulder as Zali leans in. You’d mistake him as eager.

Your thumb is so distracted in circling his cheek that it makes contact with his lip just as he parts his own. His grip on your shirt tightens. Dew coats the petal of his mouth. Zali accepts your invitation, connecting lip to lip to finger in a strange triangle, an abstract expression. The triangle becomes a polygon. What shape, you’re unsure; it depends on the placement of the vertex. Briefly, perhaps accidentally or perhaps subtly, his tongue slots along your thumb.

He rests, waiting to see if this is okay, if this can go further. It is, he does. For as indulgent as you’ve been acting, he ventures with a sense of gentleness, soothing over the knuckle, lapping at your nail. Of course you react. Your thumb rises yet he closes the distance, painting the callus on the pad.

A sharp PINGGG assails your ears.

The sound of parting is louder than the alert. There’s a smack in the air as you’re both startled out of the spell.

Then comes the shock. The wide eyes, the dryness in your mouth even though his lips had felt so soft, his kisses evaporating from your thumb.

Zali pushes you back with a grunt, more dumbfounded than anything. His slender hand slumps to your chest while the other rises to his lip. Saliva sparkles in a line along his chin.

He stares at his lap, a shudder in his breath growing more prominent as he notices the drool. In a burst of realization, Zali clamps his mouth shut and swipes it away. The sudden movement makes his guitar inch off the sheets.

“Shit,” he curses, clawing for the guitar before it hits the floor. He catches it by the body. Twuung. The instrument sings mockingly; you hear an ugly strum. At least the guitar seems unscathed. Zali repeats “Shit” with a fleck of spit against his lip. A traitorous line of thought wonders if that was your doing.

He clutches the guitar close to his chest, as if keeping his hands close would offer an apology for where they previously touched. His sleeves muffle the clumsy strum. Now that the quiet has taken hold, awkwardness settles around your shoulders like an itchy blanket, nailing you in place.

Zali shuts his eyes and asks, “Did he text back?”

Fuck a traitorous thought. Your mind has gone full betrayal by now.

You look straight ahead and make no move. “I’m not sure.”

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆