He laughs, and the sound hits my sternum like a shot ofPulp Fictionadrenaline. “That’s fair.”
I squeeze through another door. This side of the hotel smells like somewhere I can’t afford to be, clean and fruity; it’s figs, or black currants. Jammy. Once I get to the long wall of golden doors, I find a mirrored elevator. Elevators go up. Up equals roof.
“Still alive?” Arthur murmurs, jolting me back to reality. I hadn’t realized I’d been zoning out, and once I’m back on planet Earth, I notice how quickly my pulse is racing.
“Still alive.” There’s a final ding, the elevator glides to a rest, and the doors slide open. “You better actually be out there. Or are you going to throw me off the roof?”
“You think I’d do that.”
“No witnesses.”
“Many witnesses. Plenty of early risers in Pest.”
“I’m not hearing a no.”
“From me? Never,” Arthur says with a hint of something—pleasure. He’s happy. I ignore how that makes me feel as I head down the long portrait-lined hall to a set of large white doors. A plaque hangs above them that readsrooftop accessin multiple languages.
“So what do I win when I find you?” I say, only half kidding.
I push through the doors right as Arthur says, “This,” though I barely register his voice, my eyes and mind consumed by the gold light filling the sky. A hundred silhouetted birds fly right over the roof, and the sun peeks out over rows and rows of domino buildings across the streets, white and black, brown and brick, every stretched-cotton cloud tilting toward the liquid gold sunrise. The angle is just right, the light flooding the roof, me, Arthur. He’s facing the door, his phone still pressed to his ear, and I hear his smile more than I see it. But I do see it. I see every inch of him that his smile fills, how his eyes light up and his mouth parts, exhaling uncontainable joy.
I wish I had a camera. I’d settle for any lens right now, film, digital. Anything that could capture Arthur just like this with the sky behind him, a memory I could keep once night falls.
“Best view in Budapest,” he says as he pushes away from the low wall fencing in the roof. He walks over to me, past the bistro-sized metal table and chairs set up near the edge, twin to-go coffees and plated pastries on either side, pinstriped tablecloth ruffling inthe breeze. “I thought we could do a breakfast meeting, since we’re traveling later. Eat croissants, watch the birds.”
My heart hurts. It’s trying to claw its way out of my chest, ribs first. What is he doing? He didn’t talk to me about what happened between us, and this is… whatever the opposite of not talking is. This is a full-blown conversation.
“Is this you apologizing?” I ask.
“For?”
“You made a scene,” I start.
“I finished a scene,” he replies.
“Andyou hit Max.”
“He hit you first.”
“And you…” Touched me like you wanted me. Didn’t realize it would hurt me. Though if I’m being fair, I hadn’t thought through the repercussions before asking him to dance, either. But I’m feeling so many of them now—tingly traces of his hands on my ribs and how he moved my body like it was as natural as breathing. He hadn’t needed to take things that far, to the exhilarating edge of my experience and what must be just the tip of his. Because if he did want me, he’d be acting on it. This is Arthur. He chases.
We don’t have that much time left together.
Arthur slips his hands into his pockets and tilts his head all the way over to one side, jaw tightening then relaxing. “You don’t have another guess?”
“I…” I worry my lip. He was supposed to let that go.
He takes a step toward me. “Come on, Graywood. Why would I do this?”
I’ve been kissed before. Quite a few times, actually. There was a boy in sixth grade who was obsessed with my blunt humor and Sonic the Hedgehog drawing skills; he’d managed to sneak one without any recess monitors noticing. Then, after occasional highschool fumblings and a girl I’d really wanted to love my freshman year of college, there’d been Max, and even if I’d have preferred staying friends with him, at least crawling into bed with him had been comfortable. Like doing what was expected of me.
But right now, there’s nothingcomfortableabout the way Arthur is looking at me. It’s exhilarating. Bright and overexposed, with all the promise of what comes once the sky goes dark and the gold is gone.
And I think… I think he wants to kiss me.
No. I think I want him to.
Oh,fuck. No, no, no—
