The Melody of Pip Winter

28: Moment Musicaux

It was well and truly may, yay?
Was there a word that tied the plethora of yearning and craving together into one simple word? Was there even a definition for the bewildering spurts of heat and trepidation? Did all the sweet and syrupy pain make sense, even a little? All the lust, all the entanglement and the desire were they just symptoms of a burdening disease? Or was this just Leo?

For now.

Those two words were probably the most annoying and inescapable bastards on the planet. Was Pip being dramatic? Maybe, only slightly.

For now.

Those words were the only tangible syllables left in his mind before he attempted to sleep. They echoed throughout his head and pounded his skull in with their dreary subtext and slow becoming. They sprawled an island of irritation over his flesh and wound his joints together too tightly. Pip was a fairly patient person but he swore he was going insane.

It had been three weeks since that glistening event where Pip met Leo's lips and the tectonic plates rammed together. Even thinking about it made him delirious with enchantment. The way the moonlight tasted on the tip of someone else's tongue, on Leo's tongue. The jolting caresses of lightning and the smoothing strokes. Even the raging sky that soaked them into an embrace. That kiss was a hurricane, a tsunami a fucking eclipse. And Pip desperately wanted to be threaded into it once again.

The three weeks that had passed were pretty mundane. Without the list to haunt Pip with terrifying possibilities the pair spent spring; trailing long paths, staining canvases with electric colours, playing piano (because after relentless arguments Pip finally agreed to teach Leo how to play) and showing up to adolescent social gatherings (aka parties) in which they commented on the differing pupils. It wasn't hard to be around the other boy nor was it awkward, it was easy to get distracted by Leo's dazzling smiles and quick remarks but by the end of their time together Pip was always led back to that meteoric kiss (which was really more of a snog).

Most nights Pip gave up on sleep because of the infinite scribbles of thoughts prying his eyes open. At some point he had realised the piercing emotions that bubbled in his stomach weren't all that platonic. Which resulted in a myriad of questioning sessions for himself and an extensive amount of profanities.

Eg; WHY THE ACTUAL FUCK DO YOU FEEL LIKE YOU'RE ON FIRE?

You know normal stuff like that. Pip really was confused but every time he tried to analyse the kiss he had to tie down a smile, so really did it matter what he felt? As long as it wasn't a violent thirst for blood (he might of binged too much twilight).

The closest thing to an explanation for his combustible affections was a memory. He recalled a painting, one he had seen with his mother. It was abstract and especially bright with contrasting shades that lit up the canvas like the northern lights. Somehow that painting had bled its way into his chest along with its rough and passionate brush marks.

In those three weeks the aching memories had faded, ever so marginally. Most nights he was too possessed by his pounding heart and where it lead to dream of terror. But on those glum days he knew he could talk to someone and that was quite nice. Sometimes he would even take days off school and inform his mother of his current state, though he hadn't quite worked up to talking to her thoroughly about the past. Somehow he had maintained an oddly optimistic outlook, it was surprising to say the least.

And In those weeks Annie started making suggestive comments which only made Pip giggle. He didn't know if she knew but to be honest he didn't really care. It was amusing and ever so entertaining to overhear her commentary when she thought she was whispering. Sometimes he'd take note of her words and play them out in his head like she was the main actor in some play.