ze desclaimur: me no own the lyrics to face down by the red jumpsuit apparatus.

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“A pebble in the water makes a ripple effect, every action in this world will bear a consequence.” He twirled on the pavement, the rubber soles of his Vans sneakers grinding unpleasantly against the stone. A glass bottle in one hand, green iPod in the other, he pivoted again while singing the lyrics being filtered through his headphones into his ears. Some passersby watched him go with their eyes riveted to his young face, but for the most part people kept their heads down and muttered to themselves about ill-mannered kids (these were the elderly passersby, mind you). “If you wait around forever you will surely drown, I see what’s going down. I see the way you go and say you’re right again, say you’re right again, heed my lecture!” he continued to sing.

The autumn breeze swept through the city. It skewed gray smoke and car exhaust like watercolor paint across the sun-kissed air, and tousled the locks of dark, blue-streaked hair that stuck out from under his gray knit skullcap. He paused outside a small shop, taking a sip from his bottle and pressing his hand with his iPod to the cold glass. Despite the glare on the window, he could see the small Japanese-esque curios inside, little notebooks and cute pens with Blue Bear bobbles on top, Hello Kitty plushies and stickers and the like. He smiled with childlike delight (though he was a far from being a child) and went inside. The young Asian woman behind the counter eyed his bottle disapprovingly, but didn’t say anything. He shrugged and began to peruse the store, emerging ten minutes later as a powerful gust was pushing down the street.

He stuck his iPod into one his jeans’ pockets and clamped the mouth of the bottle between his teeth, then used his free hands to open a little package of sparkly, round stickers. He peeled the plastic down and removed a small star-shaped sticker, and then stuck it beside the corner of his eye. Satisfied, he folded the package of stickers in half and stuffed it into the pocket of his jacket, and then released the bottle from between his lips. He began his bouncy, flighty step again down the street, his head bobbing with the music.

“…You cry alone, and then he swears he loves you!” Arms over his head, headphone cord swinging and hitting a random person in the face. But he just smiled blithely, heedless of the world around him. The star next to his eye sparkled gleefully. He continued in this manner for some time, garnering many a glare, and then pirouetted—straight into something tall and solid and that strongly protested being pirouetted into.

The boy fell backwards with a yelp, landing hard on his backside. The pavement was so unforgiving, as if harboring each and every scornful look that had been sent his way in the past half-hour. Luckily, he still had his bottle, and his iPod was safe in his pocket. He was about to scramble to his feet when a pale, slender hand was pushed into his line of vision, and he took it. The mocha latte of his skin contrasted with the stranger’s sharply, and this person’s hand was most definitely softer and more delicate than the boy’s; the person had probably never done a day of hard, honest work in their life. Not that he, himself, had…but that was beside the point. Their hand was also cold. He shivered.

He could’ve assumed that this person’s hand was cold due to the fact that it was chilly outside and he wasn’t wearing any gloves. But he didn’t like to assume. When you assume you make an ass out of you and me. He got to his feet, brushing pebbles from his jeans, and took his first good look at this person. And his breath hitched.

The stranger had smooth, soft-looking skin that was just shy of white, tinged with a little pigment to make it more of a cream color than porcelain. His hair was white-blonde, seemingly bleached, cut wildly and supposedly without care, bangs feathered over one of his sterling eyes. Such a shame, the boy thought, to hide any bit of his face like that. He was dressed casually, a black sweatshirt over a gray tee, baggy cotton draw-string pants that hung teasingly on his slender hips. So simple in comparison to the boy’s own outfit. And yet this person’s beauty was far from simple, especially in comparison to the boy’s own looks. This person was exotic. The boy felt his blood ignite with some primal impulse, which he wisely subdued with a deep breath of the chilly autumnal, but tainted, city air.

The stranger’s lips, sensuous and roseate, were moving, the boy realized. But he couldn’t hear his words. Instead, his head was filled with, Face down in the dirt, she said, “This doesn’t hurt,” she said, “I’ve finally had enough.” He quickly fumbled for his headphones, yanking them out of his ears, and the normal quiet drone of the city rushed to fill the void. “Come again?”

The person looked at him strangely, and then (probably) repeated, “Are you all right? You took quite a spill.”

The boy’s eyebrows rose beneath the hem of his skullcap. It hadn’t been that bad, had it? He’d just stumbled backwards, landed on his ass, just— “Yeah, I’m fine.” He took a step forward, his headphones dangling around his neck, and wetted his lips. His eyes roved briefly over the stranger, before settling on his mouth. The boy rose up onto his toes, linking his arms around the person’s neck (his glass bottle still in hand)—people were filtering around them now, like they were inert stones in a moving stream—and tilted his head upwards,—some people were stopping to stare, becoming more stones in the stream as if trying to dam it—and then pressed his mouth to those tempting cherry blossom-pink lips. The person smelled like morning dew and vanilla. His lips were velvety, like flower petals, and the boy could’ve sworn that there was a returned pressure against his mouth before the person pulled away, blinking dazedly. Honey-brown lashes batting against pale cheeks.

The boy smiled, taking a sip from his bottle. The stream started moving again, the stones rolling away. He took the star sticker from beside his eye and stuck it on the stranger’s elegantly curved cheekbone. “I’m Chandra,” he said, and turned into the nearest doorway.

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