❝Among life's greatest treasures are the grandeurs of young love and heartbreak; young philosophy and boundless desire. You're only young once, but if you do it right, once is enough.❞
18-year-old Evangeline Channing is a good kid with a good life...
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Watching his hands move on the piano is hypnotising. There's no other word for it. They're strong, and certain with each note, but the sound that it makes, the most soft and sad but glorious melody, played in perfect rhythm... I feel as though hours could pass whilst he plays those opening chords; sat here, straddled on his lap at the piano bench, I wouldn't even notice – I wouldn't want to change the moment, not even in the slightest way. Until he starts to sing, and it's like a lullaby. He sings just as he lives: gentle, kind, purposeful, like a lover telling a story.
Some things are too personal,
Too intimate to spill.
And gentlemen don't speak of them,
And this one never will.
He's an effortless gentleman – my gentleman, through and through. In his mannerisms and morals, his smile and his steadfast chivalry. As he sings, letting out each steady and tender note with ease, I feel his changing breath, close to my neck, and goose bumps rise eagerly and my heart beats faster when he sings of those intimate things, and kisses my collarbone. My heart always beats faster around him.
I wasn't very conversational.
Except to say that you're sensational...
"I'll say it a thousand times over," he interjects like a lively lounge pianist, grinning when I kiss his nose, "sensational." He murmurs.
Friends now regard me with indulgent smiles,
But when I start to speak, they run for miles.
I'm the luckiest girl alive, I know it. I feel his eyes on me with every line, and it makes me feel seen. He makes me feel like I deserve to be seen, for everything that I am.
Let me tell you about her...
Hush now, I've said too much...
He's singing just above a whisper. He's not sure if I'm awake still. I am, and he lets out his little low chuckle when I peck his neck to let him know.
There's something indescribable I can't quite catch.
Let me tell you about her.
The way she makes me feel...
His hands are still in position, poised at the piano, but the notes have stopped, and he's gone solo, carrying the tune and holding my gaze.
Then draw a curtain on this scene
I shan't... re-veal
He finishes quietly, almost too quiet to hear, and now the only sound to be heard is the sound of our breathing, uneven but in sync. His lips are an inch away from mine, if that.
