Lucie

When Cian came strolling through my high school's courtyard like he owned the place, I was seated on the front steps in a huff, my foot tapping impatiently against the concrete. There was a slight buckle to Cian's shoulders, a tiny irregularity you had to be looking for to see. As usual, the hood of his heather gray pullover was up over his head, the rips in his black jeans exposing his reddened knees. There was a rather strange smile on his face as he approached, placing one foot on the step beside me and squinting down in my direction.

He flipped his hood back to run a hand through his hair, regarding me with a gleam in his eye I couldn't read. "Good morning, muffin."

I rolled my eyes. "What part of after school do you not understand? If this about seeing Eden—"

"I said nothing about Eden," Cian replied, extending his hand to me. I folded my own into his, and he hoisted me up. "I said I was coming to see you."

"In the middle of class."

The look he lent me told me he saw nothing wrong with that. I decided there was no point in arguing.

"Well," I said, my fingers still entwined in his. We started away from the school, my backpack tossed over my shoulder. "I got an excuse from the nurse, so I potentially have strep throat and am going home. Not like I'm wasting time with my boyfriend, or anything."

Cian's eyes darted to me. He blinked for a second, as if my sentence confused him, and then he said, "You called me your boyfriend."

I gave him a quizzical look. "So?"

"You've never done that before."

We had reached his silver-white Escalade, shimmering underneath the sun in all its expensive glory. I liked his car, not because it was nicer than my Subaru, but rather because it reminded me of him. It looked like it was all money and beauty, but in reality there was more the deeper you dug. It beeped twice as Cian unlocked it, his thumb swiftly pressing the button.

I sighed and leaned my head against his chest, listened to his heartbeat. "That's what we are now, isn't it?"

He pecked my forehead gently. His lips left a cold spot on my skin. "We are if that's what you want to be. Now get in the car, girlfriend," he said, as if trying out the word on his tongue. "We're going to your place."

"My place?"

"Are your parents going to be home?"

"No," I answered.

"Then, yeah, your place," Cian said, and when he saw the skeptical look on my face, asked, "What?"

"What are you planning?"

His smile was sharp, scar at his lips stretched clean. "To get away, Lucie. That's what I'm planning."

I eyed him as he opened the passenger's side door, motioning for me to enter. "You coming or not?" he prompted, and of course I was, so I slid in and he shoved the door shut after me.

The interior of the car hadn't changed since I'd last ridden in it—champagne leather seats, pine air freshener dangling from the rearview mirror, a complex touchscreen audio and GPS system installed above the console. No, it wasn't the car that had changed, but it was I who had changed. I noticed things I didn't before, like the pair of cheap shades on the dash (Cian's) or the old grocery list scribbled in blue ink pen (also Cian's) and the nutty and sweet scent that covered up the air freshener (definitely Cian's). These were the things that made the car more than a car. These were the things that made the car his.

Cian came around and plopped himself down in the driver's seat, revving the engine. I asked him, "Where's Vinny?"

"Vince? Oh. He's looking for Eden, so we have somewhat of an idea of what we're doing," he answered, pulling out of the school parking lot. The colors of the cars on the street blended together as they streaked past us, moving blurs of light. "He has to actually try not to be noticed though, because Eden's not...who she was before."

I nodded in agreement, and then my eyes caught on something in the backseat: a brown leather-bound book, it looked like, of considerable size. Papers jutted out of it at every angle, a few fluttering to the floor as we went over a bump in the road. To Cian, I said, "What's that in the backseat?"

He glanced back, and smiled. "Something I'm going to show you later."

I frowned at him. He seemed sincere, but too sincere. If I knew Cian at all, I knew the last thing he did was admit a need for help. "Is everything okay with you?"

We were drawn to a stop by a red light. He frowned at where his hands tapped the wheel, removed them, and cracked each knuckle. Each pop made me cringe. "Just my parents. No biggie."

I knew he was lying—but Cian was the type of person who always lied for a reason. The hard part was deciphering whether or not it was a good one. "If you say so," I muttered, and dropped the topic as the road sped under us and my house grew closer and closer still.

His Cadillac, at my tiny townhouse, was bulky and out of place. He pulled it up in the driveway anyway, helping me down to the concrete. Together we climbed the front stoop, and I searched around in the potted plant's draining dish until my fingers closed around a metal key. Cian watched me insert it in the lock, tenderly rubbing his shoulders as he did. The book, which, closer-up, looked like a scrapbook of sorts, was wedged underneath his arm.

I narrowed my eyes. "You sure you're alright?"

"Well," he considered as the door clicked unlocked and we entered into my cramped foyer, "my scars opened back up. I think they're still bleeding."

We went through my kitchen and into the living room, which was an array of cottony chairs and couches, with pillows that didn't match the upholstery of those chairs and couches. The television stand was an angry red and gold that glared at you from the far wall. Cian, however, looked like he couldn't care less.

I pointed to the paisley-printed sofa. "Go. Sit."

"What are you doing?" he said, glancing from the couch and back to me with two skeptical eyebrows raised. There was something strikingly attractive about the way he looked at me then, as if he was examining every aspect of me with his cool, gunmetal gaze. I could stay under his scrutiny for centuries.

"Playing doctor."

The look he returned me was one of a mentally disturbed middle school boy. I promptly rolled my eyes at him. "Not in the bedroom, you perve," I said, and gestured again to the sofa. "Go. I'm getting gauze."

As I went back into the kitchen to search through our first aid cabinet, which was above the breadbox, I heard Cian call to me: "Shall I remove my shirt?"

I laughed. "Please do," I called back.

When I returned to the sofa with a roll of gauze and a pair of scissors, Cian was sitting cross-legged on top of it, sock feet folded underneath him. His chest was bare, hoodie and shirt draped over the back of the couch.

He gave me a sheepish grin as I approached him. There was a blush at his cheeks—slight, but nevertheless evident. It brought a smile to my mouth to think Cian would even be close to embarrassed, as if he had any reason to be. Everything about him was svelte and toned, and though he lacked some muscle, the angles of his body still awed me.

"Quit ogling me," he said, though the grin on his face told me he wanted me to do nothing like it.

I clicked my teeth. "Don't use the word ogle. It's weird. Turn around."

I twirled my finger in the air to punctuate my command, and Cian sighed and did as I told him. I sat behind him, taking in the sight of his back: the scars were now raggedly split and bleeding, the layers beneath the open skin a scarlet red. A dark, ugly bruise lined the edges of the wounds.

Unrolling the gauze, I exhaled, "Jesus Christ. Is this ever going to heal?"

Cian said nothing. I watched his back rise and fall in rhythm with his breaths, as I lightly traced a finger along the split skin. He inhaled sharply. "Sorry," I muttered, and went to work, patching the gauze over the broken scars until I'd covered each inch of them. A dark blot of red had already begun to spread over both wounds by the time Cian slid his arms back through the sleeves of his hoodie.

He turned to face me. The scrapbook was in his hands. "I was looking through this," he said, "and I found...It was a picture of Vinny."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. On his fifteenth birthday."

The words settled deep inside me. Fifteen, the age he had drowned and therefore the age he would be forever. I sometimes wondered if that frustrated Vinny, if he wished he could grow up and get older and not have to fear Cian leaving him behind. "Oh," I said, more solemnly this time. I shook my head. "Cian, don't..."

"If I'd known...maybe things would be different," he went on, ignoring my order. He pulled the book open gently, pages fluttering over his fingers. I watched him, my head tilted. He handled the photo album as if it were an ancient artifact, the one remaining way of remembering the past. He pointed to a photo and turned the album in my direction.

Vinny grinned back at me.

I was stunned by how alive he looked. "That was him? When he was...living?"

Cian just nodded. "He's different now. Death changes people. He was fearless when he was alive, and now...now he's terrified of everything. I mean, sometimes just seeing running tap water makes him squeamish. I just...I just wish there was a rewind button."

I folded the album closed and dropped it to the floor. "Cian, why did you really come to get me, huh? And don't say just because, because I know it's more than that. What happened?"

In the serenity of my living room, all was quiet. The ceiling fan hummed and cars droned outside and the sofa was gentle beneath my bare legs. There was something electric in my bones, that charged feeling of being alone, but alone together with the one you loved. It was the intoxication Cian always brought with him, the something that emanated from his skin and his eyes and his smile, the something I soaked up with every inch of me. He dropped his eyes to the floor. "My mom found out that my wings are gone."

"So?"

"So, she was trying to tell me this is a good thing. That it means I can be normal again. But I...I just don't know when she's going to get that there is no going back now. As soon as Vinny took his last breath, it was all over. Everything," Cian said. "And my dad? My dad doesn't exactly think I should be with you. And I don't care what he thinks, and I never will, but I just don't know if I can deal with them anymore. It's like my parents are in one world and I'm in another."

I inched my hand forward until my fingers entwined with his, heard him exhale my name. "Did you ever think maybe that's the way it should be? You shouldn't have to wait for them in order to move on, Cian, it's your life you're living."

Cian looked at me through his eyelashes, shaking his head. The smile on his face was rueful, self-deprecating. "You have to stop doing that."

I tapped his knuckles with my thumb, felt my blood jump, electrified. "What?"

"Saying things that make me want to kiss you."

I eased forward, placing a gentle finger underneath his chin. He grinned at me, dark gold hair swept across his eyebrows, tumbling down in unkempt waves. "I don't see why that's a problem."

"The problem is, Lucie," he whispered to me as he leaned towards me, cupping my face in his respectful hands, "that if I kissed you, I don't think I'd be able to stop."

I laughed as I fell back on the couch; his body was on top of my mine, his comfortable weight holding me down. Every centimeter of him was touching every centimeter of me and all of me was alive with it, singing along to his song. I blinked up at him as he brought his lips closer, his eyes blazing with desire. "Let's see, then," I murmured, and barely finished the sentence before his mouth came down on my own.

We had never been so close to each other before, our clothes the only thing between our bodies, the feel of his hair in my fingers and his forehead against my own. I could taste his breath in my mouth, warm and sweet like honey, could feel the material of his shirt wrinkling underneath my grasp. I was pressed back against the pillows, my legs straddling Cian's; as he exhaled and went in for another kiss, this one deeper than the last, I reached a tentative hand underneath his jacket, feeling the curve of his skin and the beat of his heart beneath it. I rolled—

Thump.

The weight of him was gone from me, and I sat up, blinking at the floor. Cian was on his back, groaning, his teeth gritted. "Right...on my shoulders..." he choked out. "Ouch."

I couldn't fight a laugh. "Did you just fall off the couch?"

The withering look he gave me, face as red as tomato, answered the question on behalf of him.

I exploded into laughter, covering my mouth with my hand, tears pricking at my eyes. All the while, Cian glared at me. "Quit laughing at me, woman!" he demanded, shoving himself up on his elbows. His hair was a mussed halo about his face, blue eyes foaming with frustration. "I could have been seriously injured!"

"But you're not! So I'm laughing!"

"It's not funny!"

"Oh, you big baby," I cooed, gazing down at his red-faced expression, his mouth set in a frown. "Don't be sad just because you're a klutz."

"Me? A klutz? Oh, I'll show you a klutz," he remarked, and shot up to his feet again, bending over me and planting a kiss to my lips. It was not, obviously, a way to prove he was not a klutz, but it was nevertheless pleasurable. His laughter was in my mouth and my laughter was in his, and I could smell the sweet scent of him, and in all my heart swelled and I was extremely glad I was not back in physics class.

"Oh! Oh my god! Oh, dear Lord, dear Lord..."

At the familiar voice, Cian sprang off of me, and we both turned to see Vinny standing at the entrance to my living room, semi-transparent and mortified.

"Vinny?" Cian and I exclaimed at once. We looked at him, then at each other, and back to him again.

Vinny looked sick, as if he wanted to fade away into the background. "I'm glad I didn't see anymore than that. Oh. Wow. Okay. I think, maybe I should—"

"No, no," Cian assured him, itching at the back of his neck. He shot me an apologetic glance and reset a pillow he had knocked to the floor, zipping his hoodie up over his bare chest. I just attempted to fix my hair, burying my reddened face in my hands. "What is it? Did you find Eden?"

Vinny was pointedly not looking at either of us. He seemed a bit afraid, voice soft and small. "Yeah. Yeah I did."

I squinted at him. "Why do you sound like that?"

He blinked. "Like what?"

"Like there's something you're not saying."

Vinny bit his lip. "Look...why don't you two, I dunno, fix yourselves, and then we can talk in the kitchen. I'm waiting."

Cian yelped, "Wait, Vinny!"

But he had already faded away, as he'd likely been wanting to do ever since he'd entered in the first place. I plopped myself back down on the couch and exhaled loudly. "Cian," I muttered, "I think we have just scarred your little brother for life."

He paused, then looked at me, hands in his pockets. "Are you going to say it, or should I?"

It took me a moment to understand his point. Once I did, I held up a hand and shook my head. "Don't even."