Flat Tire

v; jamie

"We'll take all the history every battle we've won / Put our faith in the mystery, in the warmth of the sun" - Jamie Lawson, 'In Our Own Worlds'

I'm holding his hand. I, Jamie Harlow, am currently holding the hand of Will Flint. How the hell did I get so lucky?

My heart is pounding and I feel as though I should say something, but I'm lost for words. His grip is gentle at first, unsure, but after a moment he squeezes my hand tight.

I can't bring myself to look at him until, suddenly, he takes his hand away and I can't help but glance across. My hand already feels empty, cold, bare.

He's focusing on driving, one hand on the wheel and the other changing gear. Blue eyes staring straight ahead. His mouth is slightly turned upwards at the corners: the lingering traces of a smile.

God, he is so beautiful.

It's quiet for a minute or two; I still have no idea where Will is driving us. Then, he speaks in a hushed, soft voice.

"Thank you."

At that moment, I feel like my heart could burst. "Anytime," I reply.

Another few minutes pass in silence. I recognise the sleepy suburban area we're driving through but I'm not sure whether we're taking a different route home, or to an entirely different destination. I'm about to say something, when Will reaches across and turns up the radio.

At first, I feel affronted; was our lack of talking really that bad? But then the opening notes of a song I vaguely recognise are softly picked out on a guitar. The moment the vocals come in, I recognise it. It's a song from Will's playlist, which he plays sometimes while we clear up at the end of a shift. When I look over, he's smiling. Then, when he starts singing, quietly at first, then louder, I realise that he didn't put the radio on because he's uncomfortable; he did because he is comfortable.

Will's voice, just like every other part of him, is soft and light and gorgeous. The kind of voice that is heaven alongside a piano or a guitar, or alongside a slightly crackly car radio. He doesn't sing often, only when he's in a really good mood. But I live for the times that he does.

"We could be perfect," Will sings in a voice like velvet. "We could be stars."

The song draws to a close, just as Will takes a left at a junction and suddenly we're on the coastal road. Ever since I first moved to this area, this has surprised me every time. In a matter of seconds we'll go from being seemingly in the middle of an average residential area to driving so close to the sea that it feels like it's going to lap up against the car tires.

The sun's beginning to set, streaking the sky with pink and orange. Everything is glowing, golden. I can't take my eyes off Will now, no matter how weird or obvious it is. He's golden too; he shines brighter than anything I've ever seen.

I don't care, I think. I don't care if he knows how I feel. In this moment, with nothing but the two of us and the sea and the sunset, I'm nearly begging him to look over at me. Surely, surely, if he saw me now, if his eyes met mine, he'd see it. He'd see how desperately, infinitely in love with him I am.

But he doesn't, just keeps staring straight ahead. There's a smile on his face though and I tell myself that's enough. Will's happy. That's enough.

I'd completely forgotten about the radio still playing in the background until the instantly recognisable opening of my favourite song starts. We don't speak, don't even acknowledge each other, but Will and I then begin the greatest duet of Mr Brightside ever heard.