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Sometime Around Midnight

"And it starts, sometime around midnight.

Or at least that's when you lose yourself for a minute or two.

As you stand, under the bar lights.

And the band plays some song about forgetting yourself for awhile.

And the piano's this melancholy soundtrack to her smile."

Sometime Around Midnight by The Airborne Toxic Event

The stool squeaks and rubs against his trousers as he shifts his weight, one foot tapping haphazardly on one of the rungs. He glances at the clock, mesmerized by the slow trek of the second hand for a minute or two. The band, back from their break, picks up guitars and adjusts benches before launching into a song filled with sad strikes of piano chords and quiet strums of guitars with lyrics that urge him to forget who he is, what he is. The music wraps around her, drawing his eyes towards her, and her bright smile is in even brighter contrast with the melancholy song. He's not quite sure how his new co-workers had managed to get him to come to this bar. Or any bar, for that matter. He doesn't like the way that most of the people's eyes are unfocused with too many drinks, or how guys leer and paw at her in a way that she seems to be used to. She's wearing his favorite white dress, the one with flowers laced into the belt, and he can't remember the last time he's seen her wear it.

She flicks quiet glances at him from the corners of her eyes, laughing and brandishing her drink before her like a cross, urging the throng of men to back away from her. She's gorgeous, too much so for her own good. He's jealous, and upset, and heartbroken all at one moment. The wall of feelings trap him until her hand is on his arm and it's the only thing holding him to this world, the only thing that matters. She asks if he's alright, barely waiting for his nod before dancing away again. Her perfume swells behind her and assaults him with visions and glimpses of her in his arms, head ducked under his and pressing sweet kisses to his collarbone.

He's desperate now, playing victim to the memories of her and of him, together. He remembers with a pang how her skin feels against his, soft and slick and the closest he's ever been to peace. Draining another glass of wine, it rushes to his head and the memories burn higher, drowning him. He's losing her, may have already lost her. Or, maybe he's never had her, and he's stuck here with nothing. The wine creates a haze that he cannot break out of.

Her laugh rings in his ears, and he spins just to see her leading a guy he's never seen before out of the bar with a practiced hand. She makes sure to catch his eye, and lets the guy she's with wrap a long arm around her waist, pulling her out of the door. It swings shut behind her and something snaps inside of him. Pushing himself off of the stool and knocking it back, he brushes off the guys he'd come with. They say he looks like he's seen a ghost. He feels as if he is one, a transparent copy of what he used to be, what's she's used to.

Once he makes it through the door, the smell of rain and the feel of it on his face awakens his awareness. He sees the whip of the hem of her dress swing around a corner and he runs after it with unsteady feet. He's not sure what he'll do once he catches up, he just lets his feet carry him closer. He's yelling her name, dashing through the street and around the corner, ignoring the shouts of people and honks of angry cars. The street before him is empty and dark, the only light filtering in from behind him, a lonely streetlamp paces and paces away. She could be in any one of those houses, any one of those flats; she could be driving away in any one of those cars. He'll never find her now, and, for the first time since he's been stuck here, he gives up.

Quiet footsteps echo behind him, muffled and dim on the wet pavement. He turns when they stop. There she is, under a streetlamp whose glow surrounds her like a halo, mercifully alone. The light seeps into her damp, white dress, magnifying the way it clings to her hips. Her feet are bare and scuffed from running across concrete. She's holding her shoes by their broken straps in one hand and pulling through her ragged hair with the other. Mascara trails blackly down to meet her violent red cheeks, but her gaze is clear now, just the last remnants of tears clinging at the corners of her searching eyes. He's never seen her look so beautiful, so alive, so human, and he lets out a choked sob.

He's walking towards her, or she's walking to him, but it doesn't really matter because she's kissing his face softly. Starting at one eye and whispering her lips across his cheek and nose, eyelashes tickling the spots her mouth just left, she doesn't stop till she's reached the other eye and all his tears are gone. His fingers trace the tracks of her tears with soft swipes and barely there tugs until her face is clear. Tangling her fingers with his to keep his hand fastened to her warm, flushed skin, her eyes flit shut. "I couldn't do it. Not with him, not with anyone but you. Only with you." Her words pound through his head as his heart is flying fast and she might have well as said 'kiss me', because that's what he's doing.

His hands yank roughly at the fabric on her waist, but his lips are soft and hesitant as they pull questioningly on hers. She clutches awkwardly at his shoulders, not sure how they fit together until he plants his feet wider apart and his hips notch with hers. Sliding his hands along her back and arching her up against him, his lips are stronger against hers and his tongue traces boldly along her bottom lip in loops. She squirms against him and the groan that leaks from him to her reaches the back of her throat and vibrates through her bones. He dips his head, licking his own lips and sliding them down her neck and towards her chest. The rain falls unnoticed as her breath drags under his mouth and her heart skips a beat.

Only for him.