âmes pétillantes ~ classic rock imagines

• Jeff Buckley (II) •

Hello! I had no intention of writing between Christmas and New Year, yet here I am. Someone requested more Jeff Buckley a long, long time ago - for the life of me, I can't find who, sorry! But here it is - enjoy!

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"Hey (Y/N)," the giddy man called from several metres ahead of you. "Come look at this." It was the 13th time in the past half hour, to your count, that Jeff had said those four words to you, each time accompanied by a tiny gesture of his hand and a large grin.

He was pressed against the glass of another enclosure, staring through the barrier with absorbed eyes. It was hot in the insect house, even hotter than the Memphis summer blazing outside, with red lamps along the ceiling enticing sticky waves of heat from the floor, and you walked through it gingerly to get to him. There were a lot of foreign patters around that you didn't particularly like the sound of.

Jeff, on the other hand, wasn't phased by the plethora of strange creatures that surrounded him. On the contrary, he seemed rather at home among them. When you reached his side, you saw that he was looking at a butterfly, and an extremely beautiful one.

Its unique wings were shaped like paper-sculpted hearts, transparent and beautiful in subtle shades of green blended together in the spotlight of the enclosure, and framed by brushstrokes of brown. As though aware of Jeff's awestruck stare, it remained as still as a posing model. Not even a flicker of its wings ruined the perfect picture, despite other butterflies and insects flapping incessantly around it.

"Isn't it incredible?" He whispered excitedly, grasping at your arm as though ensuring you were there to witness this spectacle. While Jeff admired the still butterfly, you bent to read the information card that hung on the wall.

"It's a malachite," you read, "They symbolise good fortune and powerful transformation. They're fairly common in Central and Southern America, apparently."

"I don't care," Jeff said quietly, watching as the butterfly finally twitched to life, as though waving goodbye before flying back into its normal activities. "It's beautiful. They all are."

Jeff stayed where he was for a moment longer, searching for the long-gone butterfly in the large enclosure. Then, in a sudden movement, he lurched back from the glass, grasped your wrist, and started tugging you away. "Come on, I want to see the tigers."

"Again?" you protested jokingly, allowing him to guide you to the exit of the insect house, leaving the imprint of his hand clinging to the glass like a spectral visitor.

It wasn't until after your visit to the insect house, once Jeff had cajolingly led you past the big cats once more despite your pleas for a rest, that he revealed his true reasoning for visiting the zoo more often in the previous six months than you had in your entire life.

You were gulping a large Coke, desperately fanning your sheened forehead with one of the plastic-coated menus for the zoo's cafe. Jeff sat as placid and unbothered as a cherub beside you, sipping delicately at a lemonade through a thick straw. Even sat down, he was still admiring the zoo; the people, the posters, the animals a hundred metres or so away, the crude paintings advertising said animals. He was so engrossed he didn't even notice the beads of sweat beginning to form along his hairline until he turned to speak to you, when he unselfconsciously wiped them away with the back of his hand.

"I might be working here, Y/N," he finally released his straw to say. Before you could even swallow the mouthful of Coke, he carried right on, "I got an appointment to volunteer in a few weeks. Made it on the phone yesterday."

"Really? Jeff, that's so great! What are you going to be doing?" You finally put your cup down, reaching over to grasp Jeff's hand, which was curled up on the table.