ultraviolence // kai anderson

fate

    A few isolated cheers rise from the crowd in the silent few seconds of the intro, and Kai's lips part when I look at him with an expectant head tilt. He raises his hands, palms toward me as I approach him with a small but determined smile.

    "No, I don't..." he tries telling me, but uses no physical force to stop me when I bring my wrists to rest on his shoulders and clasp my hands behind his neck. "I don't do... this."

    "I know you love this song," I smirk up at him, then use my best puppy dog eyes when I add, "And me."

    He looks to the side and mutters, "Fuck," before giving in, placing his hands on my waist and pulling me tight against him. I don't think I could be happier.

    People are beginning to point and coo over us once we're moving, slow and easy, back and forth. With every passing second Kai's attitude slips away and the light in his eyes becomes brighter, more defined. He peacefully exhales as he looks down at me, from my eyes to my lips then back up again. It looks like there are so many things he wants to say, but either can't decide on what or can't find the right words.
    I feel the same way, I know what exactly he means and feels, and I hear him without him having to utter a word. There's always been that connection between us, some deeper understanding that the two of us only have for each other. We might know the other more than we know ourselves. And that's terrifying and beautiful and rare and everything I ever needed. I decide to tell him the smallest part of that.

    "You're beautiful Kai," I say as we move with the rhythm of the song.

    His brows come together as he shakes his head and momentarily looks to the floor, "I'm supposed to tell you that."

    Had I embarrassed him, made him ashamed? Was it emasculating? Maybe. But how long had it been since he'd been told that, if he ever had? It's so very true in so many ways, and selfishly, I want to be the one to make sure he knows it. To make sure he feels because of me how I feel because of him. Before we came back together, I hadn't felt important or desired or pretty in years.

    "Thank you," my thumb moves reassuringly up and down over the back of his neck. "But you deserve to hear it, too."

    He looks back up to meet my gaze, something like a frown on his mouth but an entirely different look in his eyes. His flaring nostrils are the only tell that he's fighting tears, and that alone does me in: I put up no such fight and let my tears fall as they come. I close the already small distance between our chests and hug him tight. He hugs me back with just as much force and urgency and whispers beside my ear, "I love you, my pretty girl. So much."

   I can see in my peripheral people watching us and even a few recording on their phones, but I cannot bring myself to care. All that exists right now is me and Kai in each other's arms, how it always should've been and how it always will be from now on.

//

    We spend just over another hour in that room partying with strangers who think we're some other couple; every time I'm called Mrs. Anderson I float a little higher. In our time with them we've been given slices of makeshift wedding cake, countless free drinks, and even shortly crowd surfed while clutching each other's hand and laughing hysterically the whole time. Bubbles are blown and confetti is thrown in our wake as we exit, still hand in hand and beaming.

    We stumble out and into the real world again-- or, as real as a bright and sobering hotel lobby. The judgmental looks of the balding man behind the counter do nothing but entertain us further, and we stifle our laughter all the way to the elevator. While we wait for it to descend to our level, I hear the beginning statements of the news reporter from the TV mounted in the high corner of the room. The volume is low but hearing your own name has a way of catching your attention. Kai notices my line of vision and gives the report his attention as well.