Every Little Thing

24

And I do. I teach him a few steps, the general one, two, three of the beat, although it gets a bit tiring when two songs have already passed and my toes feel more like doormats than actual body parts, thanks to my open-toed shoes and Reed's constantly-stumbling feet. I will say, though, that it's kind of enjoyable to watch someone like Reed—someone with so much suaveness and eloquent speech—be incapable of doing something as simple as dancing.

"Okay," I say finally, as we're nearing the end of another song and no progress has been made, "Just—just go with it, okay? I'll help you, but you're never going to be able to do it if you keep thinking."

He lets out a breathy sigh. "If I don't think, I look like an idiot."

"Who the hell cares?" I ask, through a burst of unexpected laughter, "Who cares?"

His brows furrow ever-so-slightly and he shakes his head in disbelief. "Jesus, Evelyn. You sure there wasn't alcohol in that water?"

I roll my eyes. "We're in New York, Reed. There's no need to think here."

There's a moment in which nothing comes from either of us, but that's when his brows lift in surprise and he laughs.

"That," He tells me, "Is something I would never expect coming from you."

"Well," I reply, tone light and coy, "I am full of surprises."

He doesn't object to that—instead, he just extends his hand to me. I take it in mine, and our fingers intertwine as a new song begins, a slower beat, a steady rhythm as the lead singer's voice, a female's, begins to crow into the microphone.

Reed is reluctant at first—a quick spin and then nothing more than a few shifts in footing. I have to bite back my laughter and guide him nonetheless, causing him to speed up and step in time with me, until his hands are at my waist and I smile because he's looking straight at me and there's no longer a fear in his face, but rather a sense of relief. He lets go of me and we dance side-by-side, not even watching each other or checking over our shoulders to see if anyone's looking, just dancing, and for the first time in what feels like years, I can breathe.

All too quickly, the song ends and we are breathless. Reed beams at me with a triumphant whoop and pump of his fist. I just laugh, shaking my head as we make our way off of the floor and back to our seats.

________

We decide to leave an hour after that, our conversation light and breezy all the way back to the subway station. We take our seats in the completely-abandoned bus car, the air conditioning vents rattling as the subway begins to move, an automated voice rattling off stops and incoming gates, and that's when I begin to feel the weight of exhaustion settle in.

I lean against the corner of the subway and Reed does the same, dropping his bag to his feet.

"What time is it?" I ask, and he checks his phone swiftly.

"One in the morning."

"Ugh," is all I can think to reply.

"My thoughts exactly," Reed laughs anyway, and then clears his throat before saying, "I had a lot of fun, though."

"Yeah," I sigh, imagining the almost-not-quite kiss on the bridge. "So did I."

"Thanks for coming."

"Thanks for inviting me."

And then we glance over at each other and start laughing, laughing so hard that my stomach hurts and I might be on the way to having abs because it's one in the morning and we're just two kids who took an impromptu trip to New York and damn it, damn it all because we're young and free and we can do whatever the hell we please.

And through the rumbling of the tracks, the occasional burst of static from the intercom, the laughter that eventually dies in our throats, I realize that this might be what love feels like. It might feel like this, like the joy in simple moments, like the laughter in inappropriate situations, like empty subway cabs and city lights.

Maybe—just maybe—this is how it feels.

I release a breath and turn to Reed, who's rummaging through his bag. He smiles and pulls a pair of earbuds from it, offering them out to me. I take them without a word, putting one in my left ear while he places the other in his right. He plugs them into his phone and starts playing a song, some alternative band that I've never heard of, singing of broken hearts and lighters in concerts and breaking the rules.

But eventually, the words melt away into the background, and I close my eyes-allowing myself to be immersed in the music, in the pound of my heartbeat, in the warmth of his skin right next to me, in everything that has made up this night. This practically perfect night.

I release a breath through my nose, tilt my head upwards, and then the world slowly fades.