(we're a) Fine Line {HS}

XLVIII - White Sheet

Hold me closer
Although you'll leave before the sunrise
I'll be bleeding
But don't you mind, I'll be fine

It's intriguing how music expresses things in such a delicate way, even when those are the most confusing, audacious, sometimes even impossible things to deal with. How it affects our feelings even when we don't relate to the lyrics, and how it doesn't always has to have lyrics to be relatable.

How some songs make us want to cry, others want to dance, and some are simply satisfying to sing or play along to. While others just make us scrunch up our face and feel like bleeding from the ears of how bad we think it is. And how it also doesn't always affect us all in the same way.

I used to think there would always be a song to successfully express any feeling.

That was until I met his lips. Until I felt his touch and learned the rythm of his breathing, as if he is a song himself. And held his gaze with mine like the singer holds their microphone and the drummer holds their sticks, knowing just as I do that if they let them escape, they'll end up lost and it might be difficult to find themselves again.

I can no longer believe other music aside from him really has any power at all, the world aside from us really has any meaning at all. Which, at the same time, makes me ask myself if I really care about that at all. I can almost hear him telling me not to and just kiss him, precisely because we don't want to care, and don't want to know where not caring will lead us to.

"What would you have done?" I ask, my closed eyes reflecting the lack of strength in my voice when I'm at the mercy of his kiss like this. The night is quiet, as well as the low song on the radio; Hold Me Closer by Cornelia Jakobs, if I heard them announcing it correctly.

"If you hadn't gone out." I add slowly. Our lips keep snaping very gently with one another and our tongues meeting, but separating to then meet again, along with it, never to know when will they separate for good. The sounds remind me of the rain that was just now dripping on the car and hitting the ground around us, or maybe it's the rain itself that reminds me of these kisses instead. I suppose that's why we took it as an excuse to stay in the car and wait for it to pass so we could then go inside.

It is long passed now, but we don't seem to have notice the sounds are no longer also from the rain.

"Hm... I would've kept playing songs to tell you how I love you." He mumbles with his voice also affected in a way, holding my cheek while I hold his neck. So he really meant the words of that song. "I would've remained right there for when you were ready to talk.."

"I didn't want to."

"That's why I left."

Our remaining hands play softly with each other, interwining fingers confusedly and rubbing skins to keep them feeling.

"You had already said all you wanted to and I had to prove you wrong somehow." He explains and I frown unconsciously, hurting me that he sees things in such way when I, hosnestly, struggle to remeber what I said, now. Harry stops the kiss and takes a quiet deep breath, and without moving away he adds lowly "You said he was right and he wasn't."

I focus on the source of those words, still frowning, but now at how stupid I am. "I've told you; I was losing my mind." I reply a bit angrly; at the situation and at the images of that video suddenly dangling in my head again, making my sick as I imagine if it were true. But it isn't.

"And that was exactly what he wanted."

My head is much lower now. For some reason, I can't look into his eyes, so I pretend to be very interested in the way the fabric of the seat was sewed, while in reality I'm lamenting the tip of his fingers from having stopped grazing the palm of my hand.