The Art Class (MXM)

Alex:

For a moment, neither of us says anything. I don't know what to say, so I don't say anything. I just sit there, my hand still resting on the guitar strings, feeling the weight of his gaze and the steady rhythm of my own heartbeat.

Eli breaks the silence first, his voice soft but certain. "You don't have to say anything, you know. I just wanted you to know."

"Know what?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

"That you're beautiful," he says simply like it's a fact like it's the most obvious thing in the world. And the way he says it makes me almost believe him.

There's that breathtaking smile again, the one that seems to light up his whole face. I don't get it. How can he be so carefree and happy? It feels unfair, almost like he's stolen all the good vibes in the room and left me with nothing but my own chaotic thoughts.

"Should we have another drink?" I blurt out, the words tumbling out of my mouth before I even think them through.

The last thing I want right now is to remember this night in vivid detail, so the only solution seems to be drowning it all out with something stronger. Go harder, forget faster—that's the plan.

Eli tilts his head slightly, his eyes studying me in that unnervingly perceptive way of his. "You sure, Axy?" he asks, his tone laced with concern. "Or we could do something else."

He shrugs his shoulders casually as if the suggestion is no big deal, but there's something in his voice that makes me pause.

"Okay," I say, drawing the word out longer than necessary. "Like what?" I'm not sure what I'm agreeing to. Honestly, as long as I stay distracted, I don't care. Anything is better than being stuck in my own head.

He stands up slowly, brushing off his hands before walking over to the wall where the guitar collection hangs.

I watch as he carefully places the red guitar back in its spot, his movements deliberate and precise.

There's something almost hypnotic about the way he moves like he's got all the time in the world.

When he turns back toward me, his eyes catch mine, and for a split second, I feel frozen in place.

He walks back over, retaking the same spot he had next to me, only this time he's closer. Not a little closer, but close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from his body, the space between us charged.

Before I can say anything—or overthink it—he reaches up, his hand moving toward my face. His touch is so tender, so unexpectedly gentle, that my breath hitches.

His fingers brush against my cheek, soft and warm, and the rest of the world seems to fall away. Instinctively, my eyes flutter shut, leaning into the comfort of his touch.

And then, without warning, he leans in, his lips brushing against mine in the softest, most delicate kiss I've ever felt.

It's like he's testing the waters, giving me the chance to pull away if I want to. But I don't. I don't even think about stopping him. The kiss deepens, tender and slow, and for the first time all night, my mind feels quiet.

I'm not thinking about Zack. I'm not thinking about the jealousy, the self-doubt, or the whirlwind of emotions that's been tearing me apart.

All I can focus on is the way Eli's lips feel against mine, warm and steady, and the way his hand cups my face like I'm something precious.

The kiss shifts, growing more urgent, more frantic. His other hand moves to my waist, pulling me closer as if he can't get enough. My own hands seem to move on their own, tangling in his hair, feeling its softness as I lose myself in the moment.