The amount of time that can span a few seconds of silence in the right circumstances is incredible. She searches my eyes, and I tip my head to the side, letting her. The broken girl and wandering boy are face-to-face for the first time. It’s so hard not to fall into what we were. Who we were.

Who I thought she was.

I look away, and my armor’s back in place when I return my gaze. “I’m glad something was real for you.”

“Foster.” She cringes using my name and checks over her shoulder to see if anyone’s near us.

“What? Does my name make me too real?” I erase the space between us until she has to tilt her chin to look at me. “Was it easier in the dark, Remi? Not having to see me?” My thumb skims the skin between her shirt and skirt, her breath hitching. “I could finally touch you, and you could still pretend?” Her chest rises faster, my graze dipping under the top of her skirt and chasing more, and we both watch every pass lowering. “Maybe next time I play with your shadow, I make it come.”

Her eyes flutter closed, lush lips parting on an inhale. I’ve seen parts of her this way more than once. Only now we’re minus the phone screens, and the full view is even sexier.

I told her you never truly see something until it’s right in front of you, and she’s no exception. It’s why I can’t resist her in the dark. When I can’t really see her, I can hide in the lies a little while.

My thumb stops, eyes trailing off while I chase the words instead of her skin.

“Foster?” Remi says, more hushed this time.

She touches my arm, near my wrist, and I look up at her.

The first line’s right there.

I snag the black frames from her head, walking out with notes and syllables swimming. Christian stands by the door separating the viewing room and rehearsal space. I pass him while sliding the spy glasses on. I press the flush button without thinking. Muscle memory. Dev’s on his bass on the sectional. I swipe the notebook and pen and barely hit the cushions across from him before ink hits the page. He stops playing, and all noise cuts out of the room after he shuts the door.

I write in fragments at first. Kill more lines than I save. I rework the same words three different ways, letting myself drift into the alternate reality that is creating—wrong builds to right and what fits perfect one time lacks the next. Then for no apparent reason at all, everything exists exactly as it should.

Everything flows in absolute harmony.

* * *