. modern flame

[samira deol]

It's getting late. At least, Samira thinks it might be, phone abandoned long ago to the depths of her bag with the intention of being present. Her brother had finally caved and mentioned Jessa on the phone the other night, falling to her subtle demands for a night out together. Her offer to invite Aaron had read like a buffer to him easily, their ruse still precariously kept. It felt strange to keep such a heavy secret from her own brother and it must have weighed heavily on her tonight, succumbing to a steady combination of flowing conversation (Jessa was bright and forward, Ish surprisingly demurring to her lead) and rounds of drinks. Now it was late (she thought), and her head was swimming a bit, and her and Aaron had been left to their own devices once the pair finally bid them goodnight. "Aaron," she whispers out loud suddenly, unable to stop the giggle that spills out. "Aaron, I'm kind of drunk."

[aaron eklund]

These days, Aaron was seeing more of Samira than he had in years. Excuses flowed easily between them, using everyday errands and outings with their dogs as reason to meet up, still talking most mornings over the phone. Conversations that segued and looped, never keeping on track as they caught up, as nostalgic as they were now curious, hopeful even. This wasn’t an affair, they were adamant about that—but practically double dating with Ish and his new love interest, Aaron registered the weighty guilt of their secret. And yet it’s easy and natural, a rhythm he hopes will be theirs one day, Us and Them. The three of them together like old times, seeing if a fourth could fit, if Jessa was a good match for the boy they both loved. “Bye” Aaron said one moment, “Nice to meet you” the next, watching the pair recede through the bar. Sami and him left alone together, thumbing the nicotine patch where his shirt sleeve was riding up. "No surprise there," he said to Samira's confession, shaking with inspired mirth. "I think you took a sip every time you wanted to ask a question." Downing the last of his beer, Aaron flicked playfully at her straw for her attention. "So. What'd you think?"

[samira deol]

Ease was what she had tested at first. How it felt to come back together again for longer stretches at a time, catching up on years lost, on conversations that had drifted in the midst of all their distance. Though she'd had confidence in it she didn't expect it to be so simple, bouncing off each other in conversation lines, Aaron segueing in gaps she wasn't supposed to know yet with a simplicity that settled her nervous, racing heart. He'd always been like that to her; calming, often an opposite presence to his life experience. Or maybe he was truly the only person who could throw her off guard, who was so in tune with who she was that he could nudge her off kilter with the easiest of actions. It forces a wince when she remembers that's what Ravi should be, drowns her in another sip before Aaron's sloping form is a little blurry in front of her, dark eyes crossing at the attention he brings to her straw. "I was...I-" she hiccups, slapping her hand over her mouth at the obviousness. "I thought I was being cool." Mumbled through the gaps of her fingers she has no idea if it travels, senses both heightened and stilled in his presence. Waiting for what foot he could shift her again, which way she'd fall. Another sip to tamp the curiosity for now, stepping a little closer as her ears rang. "She was...everything and nothing I expected. He is the world's eighth wonder. Seventh? How many world wonders are there?"

[aaron eklund]

Despite all their time together lately, drinks were a very uncommon occurrence. Though the last occasion was his birthday, it was a curious treat to be in a bar with her, something they’d largely missed out on together during their twenties. Separately, in different places, a reminder of history they were torn between trying to forget or hoping to reconcile. Little pieces of normalcy they were allowed to try on, seeing how it fit, if it caught them up or dragged them back. Right now it feels light and celebratory, still buzzing from the excitement of their recently departed guests. "You were great," Aaron assured, glad it had gone the way it had. They were both protective of Ish in their own ways, her version springing to action when it came to potential girlfriends. "You were more sister than detective this time around. You fooled her," he assured with a smirk, hesitating to order another with the way Samira was narrating her thoughts out loud. It was endearing, watching her so loose and present. "I think it's seven, but the eighth is right here now: drunk Sami," he announced for an audience of no one, seeing to that two glasses of water were delivered to the bar top in front of them. "When's the last time you were drunk?" Aaron wondered, another new side of her to learn.

[samira deol]

The bar still buzzes around them but she finds it easy to tune out, face tipped up to find Aaron's gaze before melting into relief. At her very core she wanted Ish to be happy and to find someone to allow the best out of him, scoffing at ex girlfriends of the past. It seemed they'd both grown up lately - him molting out of his past dating preferences, Samira...well, trying to adjust her lenses to an alternate future. One that seemed sharpened to the lazy drawl and quiet humor in front of her, allowing her shoulders to slip down another inch further. "Maybe Ish's acting has been rubbing off on me," she mumbles, taking another glance around the bar before dragging her straw back to her lips. She isn't sure if she's still drinking because she's trying to tamp the adrenaline high or the nerves refused to fade, rolling her eyes at his confession. "You also seem to have his dramatics, suddenly." Both products of being brought up with her outgoing brother, weighing her answer as she continued to stare down into her glass. "Ummm...maybe New Year's a few years ago? An entire bottle of champagne and a crushing hangover later...here she is again!" Trying to recreate how bubbly and light she'd been then, swaying on her feet. "What about you?" Samira questions suddenly, eyes squinting as she stepped further into his face to study him, then widening in question. "When was the last time we got drunk together?"

[aaron eklund]

With this they were still trying to figure out the rules, toeing at the lines. When they were alone together it was easiest but not without its growing pains, poking and prodding to see what was off-limits, what edges were worth going over. With others around they had to be mindful of the intensity of their conversations or the length of a hug, but stranded alone, on their own, those considerations blurred. Aaron realizes that now, their proximity sinking in, the flimsiness of their hands and ever-rounding syllables of their words betraying their alcohol intake. “You want dramatic, you’ll get dramatic,” he teased, neither able to refute Ish’s influence. His vibrancy and flair were the things they loved about him most. Hearing her memories—the ones he's not in—is like filling in the gaps of a novel, unable to put down the story. “Me? Drunk drunk? Oh a while ago…” he started, a night that ended with his temper and a stranger. But she’s close, closer, all of a sudden, the ridge of his throat moving with a hard swallow, pale gaze bouncing between her dark eyes. It helps to sort through his memory in distraction, a Rolodex of holidays and birthdays and important events, too many he’d missed. “It’s been a long time,” Aaron guessed, a common phrase between them lately. Sometimes said in mourning, other times in revelation. "Not as many house parties to play beer pong and sing karaoke at anymore," he noted with nostalgia for their high school days.

[samira deol]

There's still questions she hesitates to ask. Memories she's afraid to dredge up accidentally, visions of his past they'd all been aware of. She knows he talks about it now, had been open with her before...but it's now, still, that they're sorting through. Trying to figure each other out again, sizing each other up like kids in their old class, warm when she's content with what she finds. It's why she isn't afraid to be off her guard right now but doesn't push further at the dodge of her question either. A natural puzzle piece she knew to put into place, finally grabbing for the water that had slid onto the bar before them. Trying to nod her head in time to his next answer as she takes a sip, droplets spilling down her chin at the bobbled movement. Brain not even filtered enough to care, catching the lingering familiar scent of sawdust and faded cologne in the air. Distinctly Aaron these days, trying to register it with the same familiarity she held their youth with. "Growing up's no fun," Samira sighs, almost childish, her lips following in a similar youthful delight. "Though karaoke bars are a thing. Maybe that's where her next test lies. Jessa, I mean. Her song choices would be pretty important. Dare I say critical."

[aaron eklund]

Two versions of themselves, two timelines, formerly entangled and overlapping then parallel and diverging. Always at a crossroads: to reminisce or persevere? Lean backward into the past or push forward into the now? There was a chance that they had changed too much that the rosy nostalgia for their youth was chasing an impossible dragon. But here, now, Aaron thinks otherwise. The morning phone calls, hours at the nursery and dog park and the beach, in each other’s arms in the observatory…there was a whole foundation to dig up if they wanted, but there was also growth on the surface to explore, both flowers and thorns. “It’s a catch-22. But we wouldn’t’ve listened back then anyway,” he noted on an amused exhale, how eager they were to climb the mountain of adulthood. Now that they were there, the view back down beckoned. “Oh yeah?” Aaron rasped in challenge, his elbow and side against the bar to better regard her, attention all hers. “Name two songs. One that would really sell you on her, and one you’d kick her out of the bar over.”

[samira deol]

Samira's caught off-guard at how easy it is to joke around him. The series of recent's and tomorrow's bringing around an Aaron who felt lighter, who eased into his body with the strict rigidity of proper training but the memory to slouch now and again. Or lean into a joke, or crack a wry smile, enraptured by the minute happiness of his expressions because she hadn't known them in so long. Phone calls over crackling phone lines, sparse video cameras and thick pixels. The haunting silence that a goodbye felt inevitable on their relationship, but a tether that had to hold because he was family, too. Now back in that strange gray area they'd navigated as teenagers, suddenly feeling as giddy at the raging heartbeat in her chest. The study of his eyes from her waist to whirling arms to what was likely eyes that bordered on a little empty, mouth open to report her answer before the flick of his gaze clicked into place in her mind. Arm sent to the pop of her hip, tilting her head his direction even if he'd always had the height in spades. "Are you checking me out?"

[aaron eklund]

Samira always managed to do that, catch him off-guard. Volley back a joke, challenge his reaction, decipher his expression before his words could try a thought. There’s private power in still being able to dismantle him this way, a reminder that she could put him back together with the same ease. In her wake Aaron is often left amused or perplexed, but only occasionally stunned like now when she calls him out. Smothering the instinct to apologize or pay a glance to her engagement ring, Aaron feels the invisible edge of a boundary beneath them, his lips turning up into the curve of his glass. Another experience they were robbed of, the simplicity of two people flirting in a bar. “Pretty girl like you in a place like this, can you blame me?” he returned, more brazen in his appraisal now that it had been noticed. Realizing the new territory this would be, how to court and affect each other again, testing the potency of a chemistry that had been shelved so long it might have fizzled out. Remembering that he promised the pacing was up to her, wary of too much too soon. “What can I say, I like what I see.”

[samira deol]

Filter abandoned long ago, Samira's studying the bar with fresh eyes. The shining polish of the wooden arches, the glittering bottles backlit behind the bar, the blur of its inhabitants moving swiftly and yet slowly, too. But nothing keeps her focus more than the sharpness of Aaron's face. The warmth she sees flush from his neck to the tips of his ear, the widened surprise of his eyes that flashed until it faded. Smile tightening in her own silly victory, then faltering as he doubled down. Skirting those lines, voices warm and tilting, Samira suddenly dulled to everything but him. The burn of his gaze on her skin, eyes waiting, waiting, until he glanced her way again. Almost holding her breath in anticipation, dancing on the verge of shying away before the cocktail she'd just downed started creeping into her bloodstream. A cresting wave, an uneasy current...she leans in and under, dragged closer to the pull of him. "You're not so bad yourself," she murmurs, hand resting on his shoulder half out of balance and half because she could. Another smile, another thought...crashing, drowning. "You come around here often?"

[aaron eklund]

Permission, it’s always permission that he seeks. Testing his tone, slow with his words, body and features in check. Offering so little it frustrated or unsettled others, those without patience or tact. But Sami knows better, clocks the extra pulse of his fingers or the glint of something in his eye, hazarding a guess at what simmered below. Those barriers falter the more he drinks, stepping out of himself, fatigued by the energy required to remain a fort. Seeing her like this, lightened by the drinks, liberated from an audience of Ish and Jessa…and without Ravi…her guard was down too. More than that, she was inviting herself into his space, the sprawl of his nerves noticing it instantly. Feeling almost self-conscious; nineteen again trying to say the right things to make her smile. Allowed to appreciate the hint of her perfume, the kohl around her usually bright eyes, the slope of her neckline, the sheen of her bare arms. Trying to remember when they last kissed. A shy smile breaks at her boldness, a moment fragile before tipping, made solid for now. Her question makes him laugh, a cliche on the tip of his own tongue. That much closer, the distance shrinking without trying. “If more girls like you flirted with me like this, I’d be here every day,” he drawls with a crooked smirk, leaning into her touch, his hand drifting to her outstretched hip, thumbing the belt loop of her jeans. “You from around here?”

[samira deol]

Rarely was Samira without a true process. Her job was rooted in methodology, strict procedures for the best results. With tonight though, with feelings, all calculations had been thrown out the window. Often waxing poetic about the mysteries of the mind, but secretly further entranced by the wonders of the heart. How it felt light in her chest, then doubled in pace, blood whooshing through her veins in a heated frenzy. Coupled together it was dangerous, a darkened path where she had no guide. Just instincts, just the settled sense of silly comfort, his hand on her hip like a lifeline. Trying to battle a strange jealousy as her lips pulled into a frown. He was free to still see other people, no true tethers or decisions on...this. The lack of a title can easily throw her further, reaching for the water again and trying to drag back her mind to the ease of it all. "Maybe," she decides, a mystery in their ruse, another laugh escaping that she can't hold back. Eyes drifting up to the ceiling, trying to spy a speaker built into its subtle lattices. "This is about the time a 90's hit comes on that inevitably plays at the end of the movie. Maybe with a little rain and a ki-.. a football field. Or a boombox!"

[aaron eklund]

His senses rejoice in this proximity, signals clear as day. The surrounding bar had long since faded into the background, present only in the surface balancing their empty glasses. Basking instead in the warmth of her skin, those shades of fire in her complexion his favorite palette. Studying the camber of her cheek and cut of her chin, the flush of her lip and drag of her lashes. Thinking to himself that this was a dangerous game, briefly spiked by guilt and concern and wonder about how she’ll feel tomorrow, knowing things could turn any minute now. Aaron being careful, oh so careful, to keep ahold of this tether. A meandering conversation punctuated by breathy laughs and flickering gazes, reaching for his water to wash down everything else he wanted to say. “I sure hope so,” he chuckles at her prediction, able to zoom out of this picture enough to see it as the ending few minutes of a nostalgic movie. His hand drops from her hip to fish the phone out of his pocket, flicking at the screen to the TouchTunes app before pocketing it again, waiting for the current song to end and for a familiar one to begin. “So uh, I think my prom date ditched me. And I don't see yours around here anywhere,” he rasped, offering up a steady palm. “May I have this slow dance?”

[samira deol]

Samira doesn't know if it's easier for them to exist in the past or present. To draw up memories that dragged sweetly through their swirling systems, remember the good before it all went bad in sweet, oblivious suspension. Like prom, like the virulent burn of their relationship, the hot, smoldering burn of her skin with every inch he covered. She would have loved him for a lifetime, back then. She wonders if that still held true now, a decade in hand and then some, drifting together over distance and quiet and pain and a chasm they refused to acknowledge spun tight against her finger. Present, for now, though the steady hand as he reached felt as innocent as the last of their teenage years. Effortlessly she clasps her hand into his own, familiar notes drifting over the speaker she stares up at it with half wonder. Then the magic settles into another laugh, tugged into his grasp only to pull back to study him, expression the wrong side of serious as her eyes narrowed in light accusation. "And they call me sentimental."