Just for Tonight

49.

He woke up and smiled, remembering the night before. In her sleep, she had let herself go against him, in that special way she had of surrendering herself in his arms, in trust. He had missed her so much.

He got up slowly, but she opened her eyes.

"I'll get you some coffee, don't move."

She smiled. A few moments later, she hastily pulled on her clothes and set off in search of Ville. She almost got lost in his house, so big was it, but she guided herself by the sound of his voice, as he sang in the kitchen.

"Hello, honey," he said, presenting her with a steaming mug.

"Good morning, Beautiful."

He wore only a pair of pants, shirtless and barefoot.

"Do you mind if we take our coffee in the studio? I've got something on my mind ..."

She followed him and settled into a corner of the room. He sat cross-legged on the floor, sheets of paper scattered around him and guitar in his hand.

He began playing his guitar and annotating the sheets of paper.

He would play several chords in a row, then start again, almost note by note, writing on the paper. He would repeat the same passages over and over, singing the tune without actually articulating the words.

When he'd finished with the guitar, he started again with the keyboard.

Chloe tiptoed back and forth to the kitchen to refill the coffee mugs, without saying a word. She was aware that she was witnessing a very personal part of Ville's life. She knew the man on stage, the rock star, but she'd never had the chance to see him express his creativity freely. And she was one of the privileged few to be there. It was fascinating.

He finally seemed aware of her presence and smiled.

"So, what do you think?", he asked with a grin.

"It's .... very instructive. This room has a soul, you can feel something great, something inspiring. And I love the melody. What's this song called?".

"Neon Noir". He laughed.

"An oxymoron. I love the idea."

He looked at her. He was more and more convinced of one thing: she perceived his music on the same level he created it. The connection between them had never faded away.

"Can I see the lyrics?",  she asked.

He handed her the sheets and waited until she had finished reading.

"I wrote it when the three of us were at Migé's", he explained.

" Come love me till it hurts?". She frowned.

He shrugged. "Behind every story, there's an inspiration."

"Ville ... explain it to me. We haven't worked it all out yet."

"He loved you and he hurt you, physically. I love you and it hurts me. Choose the version you like best."

"You weren't talking about him. You were talking about yourself. Am I right?".

He sighed. "At Migé's ...You were so close and so far from me. This virus ... was a kind of personification of what kept us from being together. Tell me you understand."

She took a moment to answer. "Ville, will we hurt each other again?".

"If we dance together, between light and dark, there's a good chance we'll find our balance."

She couldn't help smiling. He always had the last word.

She looked at her watch. "Oh boy, my shift starts in an hour."

"What time do you get off?"

"Closing around 11pm, by the time I clean up, it should be midnight".

"I'll pick you up ... well, if you want me to".

"Yes, of course I do! Tomorrow I have to look at an apartment."

He didn't answer.

"Ville ... will you show me the bathroom? Otherwise I'll get lost in your house again.... Oh, and if you could call Migé ... I might not come home tonight, once again". She winked at him.

____

He was there, waiting for her, since 11:30 pm. He watched her discreetly through the window. She had put all the chairs back on the tables and was meticulously sweeping up. She was concentrated on the task, her hair pulled up into a loose bun. She straightened up and ran her forearm over her forehead. She glanced outside and caught sight of him. Her face immediately lit up and she opened the door for him.

"Come in",  she breathed.

She threw herself around his neck and he held her close. He pointed into the room. "You really don't have to do ...this".

She took a step back. "Ville, we've been over this. I need this job". Her voice was brittle.

He remained silent until they returned home and she kept her distance from him.

"Chlo... Come and live here. You have no reason to look for an apartment or work as a waitress."

She took a deep breath and looked into his eyes. She approached him gently and took his face in her hands.

"Ville, listen to me. When I arrived in London, I barely had time to say abracadabra before I found myself living with Raf and...".

"I'm not Raf", Ville snapped.

"I haven't finished",  she cut him off.

"Go on", he muttered.

"When I rang him to break up with him...he told me that without him, I was nothing. That I wouldn't get anywhere without him. I'd just like to... Prove to myself that I can do it. Is he stopping me from being a journalist? Fine, I'll still make a living. And I'll have my own apartment, pay my own bills and be independent. And I won't need anyone's help".

He looked at her intensely, as if trying to read her.

"And this is no way for me to run away again. I promise. I can even find an apartment on your street, that would be great!", she added, smiling.

"Abracadabra, really?". He smiled weakly. "Chlo, that guy made you doubt everything. Of yourself, of your own worth. You're the most independent person I know. I know you don't need anyone. If you want to work, fine. If you want your apartment ...".

"You'll get the key. You'll come whenever you want. We'll create an intimate place for ourselves. We'll be here or at my place. But ... I need a place of my own. Please, let's not talk about it anymore".

"Fine. On my street, isn't it? Not much further".

He kissed her.