imagine that! // imagines, one-shots, and drabbles

imagining the two of us || jon cozart / paint

now the thing that inspired this  one-shot book in the first place is this magnificent song by jon cozart, who is easily one of my most adored youtubers at the moment. this is based upon the song, "Tourist: A Love Song from Paris" if you didn't already know. hope you enjoy!

My smile would widen everytime he'd intertwine his fingers with mine as I sped through the crowded streets of my hometown, and I'd pray my hair was long enough to cover the cherry red of my face as he'd laugh and grip tighter as I weaved through the crowd. I knew it wasn't long enough to cover it, of course, due to my thin hair and my bob that stopped right at my chin. I could pretend he couldn't notice, at least, he pretended to not notice as well.

As we would come to a halt in front of a destionation which I would introduce with an exhausted pant and an excited motion, his white teeth would reveal themselves to me, his thumb would run over my knuckles and I'd suddenly feel dizzy.

"So," he'd begin, rocking on his heels and looking at his surroundings for the first time, as he would never take his eyes off of me on our journey, "Where are we?"

I would giggle, of course. His voice sounded silly, and he'd grin at me like he was waiting for my laughter after he said anything. Maybe he'd come to accept that I thought he sounded funny to me when he spoke, or, as he would tell me in the dark, no one around but us, that he adored the way a laugh sounded as it escaped my lips. I was fine with either one, I suppose.

The places I'd show him weren't grand or spectacular. I'd take him to the restaurant my mother would take me to after my school hours, or to an art museum that I'd come to when I needed a good cheering up rather than that of the Eiffel Tower or the Arc de Triomphe. Those have no value to me, yet I value him. So I show him the places I do value instead. He doesn't seem to complain, for he nods along as I will reminisce on several lasting occasions of the places I'd show him.

He'd stare at me with light in his eyes as I recounted the times of a younger, rebellious me tripping a waitress just for the kick of it, and then laugh as I cringed at the memory of my mothers lecture afterwards. He'd reach for my hand beside the table we would sit at, and I would grab it and swing  our arms as I continued, as if it wasn't anything to mention. 

I recall on several occasions him strumming his ukelele in the wee hours of the morning, harmonizing to himself and writing something down as he thought I was asleep, then throwing his things back into his suitcase and coming back to lie with me.  I would pretend to be asleep, then, as if I hadn't heard a thing. Though, I wished I had known what he was writing. I don't like mysteries.

He wouldn't completely abandon his musical abilities around me, however. When we'd act like we were something straight out a cliché, ballroom dancing around my kitchen as he'd sing soft melodies into my ear. We weren't saying that we were playing out the life that could have been if it weren't for - everything that was keeping us apart. 

It was heavily implied. 

I can remember clearly how his voice made me want to cry and fall asleep both at the same time, hiding my face in his shoulder as I preteneded not to be tired, hoping to stay up and listen to him just a bit longer. I could feel his smile as his nose ghosted my cheek and his lips brushed my lips. I'd shudder, and I'd crave to stay awake a bit longer. I wanted there to be more there. I needed there to be something more than just this. 

He would stop it before I said a thing, though, tapping me twice on the shoulder before carrying me to bed and leaving me to put on my pyjamas. I'd be dozing off by the time he returned, but still awake enough to feel his lips press on my cheek before he dozed off with me. I never brought it up. He never did either.