Just A Little Bit ✔️

21. Kinley

Kinley Price, In Real Life

New York, New York. My favorite city in the world, my home. Even if I'm radically different as of recent times, I feel more at peace than ever as I walk the street in Brooklyn with my hand in Riley's, my face split into the stupidest smile in the world.

The smell of his cologne envelopes me as I fold myself further into his coat, comfortably warm. He handed me his leather jacket on the subway, grinning as he draped it over my shoulders. There's a look in his eyes when he looks at me, one that says he loves me to the moon and back. When he looks at me, I know it's true.

Green eyes. Crinkled nose. Messy, curly hair. Riley Jameson, the lead singer, the love of my life. I'm not sure how I ended up here, but I stand looking at him and feeling like the world has thrown me into free-fall.

We stop in front of Franco's bar, taking in the signs and graffiti on the door. The art in Brooklyn is so cool, a stark contrast to the upscale, metropolitan world of Manhattan. The creative atmosphere made songwriting easy, like the words could jump right off the sidewalk and lay right on me.

"So this is where it all began?" Riley asks.

"Yep. I used to play here all the time before Zane watched me perform and picked me up for the EP. I never thought I'd make it past the barstool, but suddenly, I was playing with you guys. Faraway Blues. Like, wow," I breathe the words.

"You're gonna be bigger than us one day," he says earnestly.

I frown, shaking my head. "No way."

"Way," he counters. "Come on, Kinley. Have faith. I knew you were something special the first time I heard The Worst."

"I listened to Hurricane You on loop for months," I admit.

"That's just a lie."

"Nope. I sat around listening to your voice and imagining what it would be like to have Riley Jameson write a song about me."

He chuckles. "Now you don't have to imagine. Everything I write is about you these days."

That's the crazy part. We have our own language, using songs to explain what words can't. Every feeling can be conveyed with a few words, a look from across the room while we're recording. I've seen the tweets in response to our covers, when our eyes lock and the world melts away and the only person in the world I could sing to is him.

"What are we singing tonight?" he wonders.

"I was thinking we could do a cover of something. Nothing of ours. Maybe, like, Read My Mind by The Killers. We've been working on that one. And then obviously we can mess around with something else from the album," I suggest.

"You're a genius, darling," he tells me, and lays a big kiss on my temple.

Franco waves excitedly at me when I walk through the door. "Hey! Look what the cat dragged in!"

I take him into a giant hug, bouncing on the balls of my feet. "Hi!"

"Holy shit!" he exclaims when we break away. "That's Riley! He's real!"

Riley bites back a laugh. "I think I'm a real person. I've always been. Unless I missed something in the past few years and my mother lied to me this whole time."

The awestruck look on Franco's face is something I'm not a stranger to. I made the same face the first time I met the band, surprised to see them as real people and not just photos in a magazine. It's crazy when people who seem like mere ideas come to life in front of you.