The Boy That Broke America

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GRAND CENTRAL IS an extraordinary sight for those who've never been there before, and it is evident on their faces as soon as they arrive and step into the (appropriately described) grand foyer.

For Lane, the novelty of its beauty had worn with time, as the splendour of the Titanic faded with the wear of water, and the smoothness of one's skin fades with age.

She could appreciate that it was beautiful, without feeling particularly connected to that beauty.

It was this she found herself reflecting on as she sat on a bench with Ivor, situated on the New York high line, watching the sun set over the Hudson River. It was cold, and windy as hell, but it was beautiful; real ice-queen type shit.

"So, hey," Ivor began, eyes still fixed on the view, "are you gonna tell me the real reason you were up last night?"

Lane turned her gaze to her fingers, away from his profile, the faintest ghost of a smile playing on her lips. She shrugged.

"It's not that big of a deal, really. My childhood best friend is getting married next month, in LA. It was a bit of a shock, I spent most of the night overthinking, and winded up on my balcony with you."

"Fair enough," came his reply a few beats later, then a moment after that, "So, are you gonna go? To California?"

"I mean, I want to – of course I do. The problem is actually getting there, to be honest – there'll be no planes at this late notice, especially at this time of year. And I can't drive, so, yeah, there's that."

Ivor turned his head towards Lane, the very last slivers of sunlight sifting through his hair, the warm light bronzing his milky skin ever so slightly. He looked at her for a few moments, searching her face.

She looked right back at him, right in the eyes, letting the magic of the golden hour twist its way around them. The light revealed on millions of dust specks, every once twirling around them like a billion tiny ballerinas.

"I could drive you to LA, if you'd like. I mean, like, if there was a car I could use."

Lane simply stared at him, unable to take in the words that had just exited his mouth.

"Seriously? I mean, like, you'd do that?"

He shrugged, "Yeah, I mean, why not?"

"I could kiss you," Lane replied, incredulous, "like, seriously. You honestly don't have to, like it's a really long way and I get that you might not want to drive on roads that you don't know in a foreign country and whatever, but–"

"Lane," Ivor interrupted, ceasing her seemingly ever-flowing stream of words, "Seriously. I'll drive you. It'll be fun, and besides, it's not like I've got anything better to do. Anyway, it's a good way to see the country, right? And I've wanted to go to Cali for ever."

"You're seriously the best," Lane exclaimed, beyond happy, as she launched herself forward to clasp her hands around Ivor's neck, "But please, never say 'Cali' again."

She dropped her arms, leaning back to give him the ability to breathe again.

He smiled, and it was so genuine that Lane's breath hitched. She didn't think she'd seen him properly smile, big and wide and beaming, since she'd met him, and it was so joyfully refreshing that she couldn't help but reciprocate the expression herself.

Ivor glanced down after a few moments, fiddling with the edge of his scarf. Lane turned her gaze once again to the skyline, watching as the last slivers of golden light slipped beneath the hazy, somnolent horizon.