Bible Kiss Bible.

This is the beginning of a short story:

Looking in my mirror, past my reflection, past my bed and past the pile of laundry I had promised myself I would put away two days ago, I saw him on the couch. He was rigid, sitting at the very edge of the cushion; his back straight, his left hand clasped over his right, which formed a fist. Both arms rested parallel on top of his legs, and with his hair covering his entire face, which was hanging so that he was looking at the floor, his shoulders slightly hunched, he could have been anyone. He could have been a first date, an acquaintance from class who had worked up the courage to ask me to dinner, to distract him from the many worries of his life and the haunting image of his ex-girlfriend, who had left him three weeks ago. He could have been. But he wasn't.

"Jared." I said it softly, half hoping it would get lost in the distance between us. I didn't know what to say past that. But he looked up, his hearing acute despite the countless gritty and loud concerts he had attended in his 22 years. His eyes were round, afraid. They looked almost black in the dim lighting of my apartment, blending in with his hair, which covered his forehead, grazing the tips of his cheekbones, contrasting his pale skin: Ghost. He looked like a 10 year old boy in dire need of consolation. My 10 year old boy. I went to him, my soles grazing the hardwood floor. He held out his arms slightly, his palms open--longing. I put my hands on them, leaned into him, his cheek resting on my stomach. He slipped his hands out from under mine and rested them on my sides.

"I'm scared." I barely heard it. He barely said it. I sat down on his knee and looked at his eyes, dark kaleidoscopes shimmering with our past, heavy with our past.

"No. Don't be. Don't be." My hands on his face, feeling the contours that lay underneath his warm skin. Leaning in, I breathed in his smell, the feeling of this moment, the knowledge that we had made it this far, and then kiss. Lips touching lips, conjoined on this couch, in this apartment, in this city of strangers. A city of 8 million strangers, and, somehow, we were together. No sounds, only feelings and thoughts, melding together, melting together, sinking into one another--us. I gently pulled his face away from mine and ran my hand against the pale blue shirt I had made for him, reminding him of what was there. In the swirling mass of black that I had painted on through tears, through thoughts of the end and through fear of a life alone, were four bold words, emblazoned across his chest for all to see: I believe in you.

We walked out of the building and into the cold night air, a brave boy in a thin t-shirt, lean jeans and scuffed sneakers, a girl with terrible circulation, bundled in a coat, hat, scarf, no gloves but his warm hands to hold. Together.

"I feel silly," I stated, peering over at him from underneath my hair, which the hat pushed over my eyes. He smiled. Lopsided. Familiar.

"You look silly." One of his hands reached out in front of my face. He pushed the cap over my eyes. My world went dark. I pouted and stopped walking, afraid of running into someone on the sidewalk. He stopped with me and held both of my shoulders, stepping in front of me and squishing a few of my toes in the process. I heard a single laugh in apology and began to reach up to lift the hat from my eyes. There was a sharp intake of breath on my part as I felt his lips on mine. Kiss. Lips touching lips, conjoined on this sidewalk, on this street, in this city of strangers. A city of 8 million strangers, and, somehow, we were together. Cold air hit my face as he moved away, pushing the hat away from my eyes in the same motion. Illuminated. And then we were walking again. As if we did this all the time. As if things hadn't nearly fallen apart.

We walked a few blocks in the cold, not knowing where we were going. Just happy to be walking. Just happy to be free. The night was alive, busy. Looking at the lights, the people, the buzz, I felt like I was floating. We were floating.

"Let's go to Leah's." It was said suddenly, and it hung in the air between us, floating along above the sidewalk.

"Oh." Articulate. That was the one word I would use to describe myself on a personality test.

"I mean, if it's okay." This conversation was a reminder of everything that had passed. That everything wasn't. Perfect. And once again, walking side-by-side with this lean figure in the cold, his hand in mine, head turned toward the sky, a profile against the brick walls that were flying past us, he could have been anyone. But he wasn't. He wasn't. We were here, walking toward something, toward our past and our future. All at once. I was scared.

"Yeah, yeah. We can go. It's just, I haven't been since--" He understood. I could see it in the way he gripped my hand tighter, walked a little closer, saying everything without moving his lips at all.

"Me neither." Whispers in the wind. These were not words meant to be said loudly. But he understood. And I understood him. And we had made it (this far).

"Let's go."