A Night in Paris

Chapter Three: Counting

20 Hours Left

            Nathan continued to say nothing. Strange as it was, Paris found that she did not mind. Their silence had long become a constant for the pair, the air shifting from an unavoidable awkwardness to a sense of comfort. But Nathan was not planning on letting it last any longer.

            Four. Four beats as he switched from chord to chord, as he swung the hammer to break the thin glass walls, as his sunlight seeped further into her heart.

            Three. Three seconds before Paris found the ever-flowing fountain of tears that threatened to restart their journey down her face.

            Two. Two pair of eyes, tangled with one another as Nathan's fingers strummed below with a sense of confidence, with a sense of reassurance.

            One. One song. One song to bring together two different souls, one lost and one searching. One song to communicate without the words that were long lost to the demanding attention of the city of Paris.

            It was the first time Paris had heard Nathan sing. She found herself forgetting, losing herself in his voice, which was rich and deeper than its usual octave. Time had repeated itself over the last hour. Nathan found himself singing along to the melody, instead of her. He was unknowing, but Nathan had taken the first step into giving her the final piece she was subconsciously searching for. Her crystalline eyes watched him carefully as his callused fingers pressed each string until they imprinted themselves onto his fingers.

            The last note rang across the entire apartment. The two were launched back in time, into another complication on who was ready to be the one to instigate a tête-à-tête.

            Except this time, it was Nathan who did so first.

            Noticing how Paris herself had hardly moved during his performance, he was careful with his approach. Nathan had taken her silence as an indication he had pushed too far into her wall of intimacy. He had taken it wrong. What Nathan did not know, was that Paris was touched. She had been touched by his compassion, and even though neither could have known, she was touched by his love. With the lack of it from his parents, Nathan had a lot to give, and Paris was fortunate enough for him to had been caught in her crestfallen eyes, for him to arrive at her apartment, for him to take the flight to the city of Paris.

            His voice was insanely soft, quiet, thoughtful. "Would you like to learn?"

            Paris's head shot up from where they had been tugged to her knees, which had been drawn to her chest. "What?"

            Nathan held out her mother's guitar, but it wouldn't have mattered. Paris had already made the connections in her mind. There was no need to think. Screw thinking. Thinking hurt the brain. "Yes."

            Nathan mistook her quick response as eagerness. There were many misunderstandings between the two, but that was the basis of everything that had come to blossom.

            He offered her a smile, a faint dimple she had never noticed appearing in his right cheek, and handed her the guitar. Paris took it with her shaking hands, and then laid it down on the bed next to her. She shook her head. The thing was, Paris was hesitant, she was scared.

            "I don't have the guitar pick," she muttered. "I can't play."

            Nathan tilted his head. "You don't need a guitar pick to play."

            "I need her guitar pick," Paris pushed. She had managed to convince herself that playing without her mother's treasured triangular piece of plastic would betray her somehow. Nathan caught on quick, and he understood. He understood everything.

            But he wasn't going to give up on her that easily.

            Her breaths were uneven. She was kept in the dark of Nathan's plans, even if he was currently the only light she was grasping onto. Her mother's guitar was only ever played by her mother's guitar pick, and she was not going to contaminate those strings with her hands.

            Nathan was already a thousand steps in front of her. She had been thinking too long, to immersed to her own numbness that she had not realized Nathan's firm grasp on her hand. How he had guided her gentle hands to the top of the guitar, that was now delicately placed on her lap. Paris was fighting back hard, trying to tell Nathan what she wanted. And when Paris realized she did not move a single inch, with her fingers still guided by Nathan's, she realized she did not want to fight back.

            Those innocent fingers were introduced to the chords of the guitar. First the A, then the F#min, then back to an A, G#, Ab7. On and on they went until she had pressed the last three strings. Nathan's hands guided her the entire way, they had been the ones to indent each finger with a line. But to Paris, this was her line of hope, a line of connection to her mother.

            Little by little, step by step, Paris strung together the chorus and the melodies. Her hands brushing up, down, up, down, until the song had completed itself.

            Nathan had retracted his hand long ago, a quiet exchange turning into something more than either could handle at the moment. He had his hands locked in his lap, for safekeeping. He refused to look inside her diamond eyes as he spoke. "You don't need to hold on to an object to hold on to a memory."

            Paris examined her left hand, the crisscross of strings printed onto them. A smile appeared on her face, her glasses sliding down a little as she looked down. With a determined look in her eyes, she faced Nathan once again and started all over.

            A, F#min, A, G#, Ab7...

∞

A/N: Another short chapter, another double update! I'm still working on finishing up the entire story, but I have a couple more updates to go. Don't forget to vote, comment, and follow! I'd love to hear your opinions. <3