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“Never forget?” I ask, trying to look into the depths of his eyes, but he hides again and nods.
"Every life event. Every day. If you asked me what I did on March fourteenth two years ago, I'd be able to tell you in great detail how my day went,” he murmurs, almost ashamed at what his mind can do.
Absentmindedly, I rub my fingers along his, tracing the wrinkles on his knuckles, trying to ease the rising tension. His muscles bunch, and his breaths grow haggard behind me, attempting to hold back all the frustrations that must come with his unique ability.
"So, what did you do on March fourteenth?" I quip with a smile, tugging at the edges of my lips.
Finally, after a few seconds of silence, he snorts, lifting his face from my hair. Those gray eyes connect with mine, filled with relief, spilling everything without saying a word. People must judge him when he confesses what his mind can do, expecting a lot from him. I could never imagine having the ability to remember every moment of my life. Our brains are meant to forget and ease away from painful moments.
He hums under his breath and closes his eyes. I wonder if the memory is right there in reach, and all he has to do is open a file and view it, much like a computer. A slow smile spreads across his lips, indicating it must be a wonderful memory.
"Woke up as usual at seven a.m., had cereal without milk, drank a cold coffee, and then celebrated my little sister Jenny's birthday.” His eyes squeeze shut, and he takes a deep breath, reliving the memory vividly.
"And July second?" I ask, raising a brow, secretly knowing the answer.
"Woke up, had cereal with no milk, drank a hot coffee with two packets of sweeteners and a splash of vanilla creamer, and then went to the May-Fair event out on route seven. We had one of our first gigs. Kieran stumbled over his words while singing. Rad got so hot and sweated so much that he threw his stick off the stage. My string broke. And Ash's dad scolded him for embarrassing him in public,” he rambles in detail about the first day I ever saw them perform on stage, but my brain neglected to remember the chaos of their first performance.
“Ah, I didn’t think you guys sounded too bad,” I say with a shrug, nestled deeper into his tight embrace.
“You were there?” he asks in a soft voice, leaning his head on the edge of the tub.
“How do you think I knew to email you guys? I mean, you handed me your card,” I ask with a laugh. “Although I didn’t remember you guys messing up too much, I remember being enamored by you all.” Enamored was an understatement. Like before, they drew me in with their magical voices and strumming fingers. They hypnotized me every step of the way, leading to now. Perhaps our unions are inevitable, and fate brought us together.
“It was me, wasn’t it, Pretty Girl?” Rad asks, waltzing into the bathroom, still naked and swaying his hips—among other things. He marches toward a door next to the tub, proceeds to pee without shame, and reemerges, washing his hands.
I scoff. “The world doesn’t revolve around you, Ashton Radcliffe.” He grins, splashing water on my face, causing me to yelp from the sudden warmth.
“Be nice,” Callum murmurs, splashing Rad back with warm water.
Rad scowls, pulling back to dry off his face. He rests by the tub for another few minutes and helps Callum wash me. They run shampoo and conditioner through my hair, washing it away. Soon I'm scrubbed clean with Rad's body wash, which he smugly rubs into my skin, promising he'll get me a bottle, so I smell like him at all times. Plus, he swears it'll piss off Kieran to no end.
Soon enough, we’re all out of the tub, dried off, and lying covered in Callum’s bed. We don’t bother to get dressed, instead lying lazily around and cuddling. Callum nestles into my back, draping an arm over my stomach and Rad stays to my front, looking deeply into my eyes.
“Well, how was your day off, Pretty Girl?” he asks, brushing my wet hair behind my ear.
I smile. “It was one of the best days I’ve had in a long time,” I freely admit, letting the happiness settle in my gut.
I’d never tell them I haven’t had this much fun in years. I’ve always had to worry about work and school and never had downtime, never ridden on a bike, gone to the races, or hung out just to hang out. Especially now with my mom, her illness, and her dependency on me. I’ll never have another day like today. So, I’ll savor it forever.
Rad hums happily under his breath, softly putting his face on my neck. "Just lay here with me. I see the exhaustion in your eyes and the hurt in your bones. Lay here with me, and feel my warmth." Rad sucks in a breath, reaching for something on the shelf above my head with urgency. Cranking my neck, I see the moment a dark notebook lands between us. "I need to write this down," he mumbles to himself.
"Lyrics?" I ask, scrunching my nose.
Rad grins, not breaking his concentration by repeating the lines repeatedly.
"Lyrics come from the heart, Pretty Girl. Unexpectedly. Beautiful. Raw. Lyrics appear out of nowhere," he murmurs, scrunching his brows.
A light flickers above us, highlighting Rad like a spotlight when he uncaps a pen with his teeth. Pages ruffle when he turns to a blank page and sighs in relief. Writing this down is the most important thing he's done all day.
A sparkle of excitement lights up his dark brown eyes. No one else in the room exists. Not me. Not Callum. These are just the words he casually said. Watching him scribble lyrics down fascinates me. One day they'll be someone's favorite song, sung worldwide, and it all started here in this tiny bedroom.
I take the unexpected chance to take all of him in, in his most vulnerable state. His dark, curly mullet sticks up from our romp in the sheets. His bare shoulders and chest, splattered with his tattoo, are tanned from his time in the sun. Freckles dot the tops of his shoulders and sprinkle down his tanned arms.
"There," he says victoriously, putting the notebook back above our heads and settling in. "Let's nap now," he grumbles with a small yawn.
I nearly jump out of my skin when a piano riff echoes through the room until I realize it’s my phone sounding off with a message. I swallow hard at the ominous sound, knowing precisely who's texting me this time.
“Your-your phone,” Callum mumbles, blindly reaching behind him and grabbing it on the end table.
