Two Points on a Circle

The sun is just starting to dip below the horizon, blue and black air rushing in and mixing with red shimmering light. Adam sighs and presses the tips of his fingers against the cold metal of the railings lining the promenade, the light wind skimming the sand around their feet. The sky and the sea are blurred the colour of crushed raspberries, making her hair run the colour of sins drenched in wine.

He wants to reach out and touch it, but he can't.

Perhaps this is why she seems so infectious – Anna, he knows, is temporary, and he is permanent. He loves temporary things. They always burn brighter, burn more beautifully than the permanent, probably because they are always shiny and captivating, rather than slow and heavy and aching with dust.

She isn't looking at him. She's watching the sun set, complacently ignoring his proximity as easily as though he doesn't exist. Her eyes are narrowed against the glare, their deep blue depths incandescent and full of teeming and conflicted ideals, emotions. He wants to kiss them, and briefly wonders what would happen if he could. Instead, he looks back down at their hands. Her brightly painted nails are chipped, bruises blossoming on her knuckles like the same galaxies that have bloomed on her shins. His hands are pale, unmarked, perfect.

Their hands may be close, but to look at they couldn't be more different. They look like two different creatures, which is sad, because he knows that they fit together (even if she doesn't). They are alpha and omega, the beginning and the end. The light flickers, briefly, and he looks up to see hell painted, ephemeral, across a rapidly darkening sky.

***

This time he follows Anna to a house party. In the garden the air is heavy with petrichor, water droplets still shining on the leaves of the bushes and trees. They reflect the glow of the fairy lights strung across the plants, like fallen stars trapped in raindrops. Adam swirls his drink in his glass and looks over to the conservatory. Anna is standing in the doorway, laughing and talking to a group of people. Her laugh is like a bite, sharp and static, cutting through the conversation.

She doesn't notice him, standing by himself on the grass. But then again, he doesn't really expect her to. Grimacing, he swallows some more of the alcohol and considers leaving. But then, someone pipes up from behind him:

"Are you not a party goes either?"

Adam turns to see a young man sitting on the garden swing seat. He is also alone, but he doesn't seem to mind.

"No." Adam answers. The man seems to be waiting for something, so he goes and sits down by him on the seat.

"I don't believe we've met," says the man, holding his hand out for Adam to shake. "I'm Simon."

"Adam."

A few more seconds pass in slightly awkward silence, until:

"So, Adam," Simon leans back, causing the seat to rock slightly. "What brings you here?"

Adam chokes a bit on his drink. "I have a friend here. Over there." He points to Anna, who is currently flirting with a guy in a hat in the group of people surrounding her.

"Oh yeah?" Simon peers at them, and then shrugs, swigging from his bottle. "She seems to be having a good time."

"She's more of a people person than I am." Adam looks back down at the glow from the fairy lights surrounding them reflecting off his glass, and then back at Simon, who is frowning at the group in the doorway.

"I'm not much of a people person either, to be honest. But still, I'd regret it if I didn't go to these things every now and then." He coughs, low and scratchy, covering his mouth. "Even introverts can't stay inside all the time, you know?"

"Yeah..." Adam trails off as Simon coughs again, his face turning red with the effort. "Are you okay? Do you want me to-"

"Nah, it's fine." The other man wheezes, massaging his chest with his hand. "I've just got this cough, I can't seem to shake it. I've had it for weeks."

Adam feels unease starting to swirl in his stomach. "You should probably get that checked out."

Simon shakes his head and takes a drink. "It's just a cough. Nothing to worry about."

"Mmmm..." Adam feels the sudden pressing need to leave the party and go somewhere else. He drains his glass and stands. "Well I think I'll head home. It was nice to meet you Simon. I hope your cough clears up soon."

"Yeah, me too. See you around, mate."

"See you."

As Adam passes the conservatory, he glances over at Anna, now intensely making out with the guy from before. His beanie has now fallen to the floor.

The gate swings shut behind him as he leaves.

***

Adam sits, swinging his legs, on the altar of an old, worn out church. Above him, sandstone angels lean out from the walls, reaching towards their maker. He had read quite a few interesting essays about angels, in his time. He always found it fascinating that they were sculpted to look like humans with wings, when the actual Bible and accounts from monks and nuns claiming to have seen them suggested that they looked like some form of monster, powerful and terrifying.

After all, there had to be a reason that the first words out of their mouths were always "do not be afraid."

The last time this church had seen a congregation would have had to have been years ago. Decades even. Now the pews are rotting, the once impressive towering pillars crumbling. Ivy swarms across the walls, creeping in from the holes in the windows. Faith had abandoned God's house, and now nature had come to reclaim it. Reaching out, Adam plucks a leaf from the stalks climbing up the leg of the altar. The atmosphere of this church is sepulchral, and the ivy only adds to the grey feeling that lingers in the air like murmured prayers at a funeral.

There's a creaking groan from the front of the church, and Adam looks up to see Anna slipping through the doors. They shut with a crash behind her. Without saying a word, she walks up the aisle and sits in the pew at the front, directly in front of Adam.

The wind whistles through the holes in the windows. A few more fragments of purple and red glass break free and fall to the floor.

Adam twists the stem of the leaf between his fingers, and waits.

***

The last of the sun slips below the waves, and the blue and black sink and conflate until it is hard to see. She jumps, pulling herself onto the railings to sit, and he sits beside her, patient, waiting for her to say something. Her hair is now a dark flowing mass, the rest of her body a penumbra in the shape of a girl. The wind seems to chill more, now that the sun has disappeared, and he watches goose bumps raise across her arms and wonders if he should feel them too, despite his body being completely covered by clothing. For an experiment, he pulls back the sleeve of his white sweat shirt and looks at his arm. Nothing.

The girl tips her head back so that she can look at the sky and the stars starting to appear. He looks too. They are a cynosure, that's for sure. Beautiful and far away. In the crepuscular air, they come as a welcome relief. He steals another look at her eyes, reflecting the heavens like a mirror. But, when he allows themselves to look just a split second longer, he imagines that he can see the buzz of thoughts shimmer across their surface, like white noise on a long dead television. What are you thinking about?  He wants to ask, so he does. His words fall into the silence between them and get lost in translation.

They sit, one dark and one pale blot, on the rusting metal rails. A group of boys speeds past on their bicycles, talking and laughing, and disappear off into the distance. Silence falls again.

After a few moments, Anna reaches out and links her fingers with his.