《heart》vernon

2、第 2 章

　　In France, it's warm even in October, even when the leaves have deepened into autumn shades and cascade in piles on the ground, even in the morning, sunlight is always in their eyes, bright and strong and flitting between the trees.

　　That's what Colin likes about the place -- the warm shades of red and brown all over, like apples, or cinnamon. It's in the leaves and the terrain itself, in the rustic architecture comprised primarily of countryside hotels and outdoor cafes built in the 60's. Hues of red like hotel-room carpets, deep sepia-browns like old photographs, and sunny lemon yellows, tangy like citrus.

　　The air here smells faintly sweet, mineral, like the aftermath of summer rain. It makes him feel nostalgic in a way, like a little boy who wants to lie under piles of leaves. In between takes, Colin holes himself up in the catering tent and eats whatever is for dessert that has fruit in it, listening to music on his iPod. He listens to Reindeer Section because it's soft and sleepy and reminds him of the patter of rain. When it does rain, he listens to Death Cab for Cutie because their sound always makes him think of sun-baked gravel and swimming under water.

　　Even the rain in the France is different, the smell of it like old earth, and how it falls in sparkling lines. Back at home, rain comes down in a heavy surge, slapping the pavement and flooding the streets. When Colin was a kid, he and his brothers used to make paper boats made out of old newspaper. Whenever it rained they sent them floating down the gutter and kicked puddles of muddy water at each other, running alongside their paper boats until they disappeared down the stream.

　　When they got bored of that or ran out of paper boats, they went back inside again and drank hot chocolate. They ate freshly baked cinnamon cookies and piled into the living room watching whatever was showing on the telly, wrestling one another for the remote. Anyway, Death Cab makes him feel like that -- young and naive and stupid, like whenever his mum made him wear that yellow raincoat with holes in the pockets but would send Neil out in a blue one, not looking like a big joke.

　　Certain songs remind him of certain events in his life. Wonderwall used to be his break-up song in college, sad and dragging with a resounding chorus, but now he doesn't even listen to Oasis as much and forgets where he keeps his old records. Maybe it's growing up or whatever, but he's decided to steer clear of whiny pop music. All it does is make people feel miserable, and maybe back in the day when he was a teenager full of rage and emotion, that type of music was fitting. Nowadays, he feels like he's finally found his center. It's all underground bands that he listens to, stuff he finds online through friends or the soundtracks of movies.

　　Acoustic song writers make Colin think of Bradley. He doesn't know why, exactly, when Bradley is the complete opposite of acoustic. He's loud and really out there, not obnoxious but just there, noticeable. Colin brings this up one day, and Bradley just laughs and gives him a strange look. "I don't know what it is you're trying to say, mate, but it can't be good when you're comparing me to cheesy pop artists."

　　"They're not cheesy." Colin says defensively. He starts gesticulating. "I mean," he continues. "the ones I listen to, you don't hear them on trashy rock stations. They're unsigned bands. They have their own subculture. They're underground."

　　"You don't mean like moles, do you?" Bradley says.

　　"What?" Colin laughs. "Moles?" Bradley shrugs and bumps their shoulders together, smiling. He does that a lot nowadays, just walks closer without preamble and matches Colin stride for stride. Even when Colin tries walking ahead, Bradley will tug at his arm to slow him down. Colin doesn't really mind. He likes pretending they don't have somewhere else to be and that they can walk all day like they have all the time in the world.

　　"You're always in a rush, " Bradley tells him one day when he treats him for breakfast at five in the morning. The streets are empty and sparsely-lit, and there it is again, that apple scent, heavy in the trees.

　　"Not really." Colin says, and inhales sharply. "You just think that way because you're really slow sometimes."

　　"What?" Bradley laughs and wrestles him into a pile of leaves.

　　"I meant how you walk!" Colin shrieks when Bradley mock-cuffs him on the shoulder. "I swear I wasn't implying you were dull!"

　　When Bradley breaks up with his on-again-off-again girlfriend, he sulks in the fold-out chairs in between takes. He gets these faraway off looks in his eyes and doesn't talk to anyone, even Colin, and Colin tries to conjure an image of Bradley's girlfriend in his head so he has somebody to focus his resentment on. He's heard stories from Bradley, collecting information through snippets of phone conversations and late-night punch-drunk stream-of-consciousness babbling.

　　Some days Colin imagines her as this wide-eyed 1940's redhead with big hair and wide hips. She'd have green eyes and a heartshaped mouth, her favorite color would be purple. Other days Colin thought of her as a strawberry blonde. Pale hair, dark eyes, a dancer's body, -- until Bradley told him she had blue eyes and black hair and was a bit on the skinny side, and then Colin started imagining Katie, except with blue eyes and shorter hair.

　　But it's really weird to have Bradley go suddenly quiet like this, like someone's pressed an off button and he's shut down completely. Colin sits next to him one afternoon in the catering tent, folding his arms on the table to cushion his head. He stares up at Bradley who looks tired and a little sad around the edges.

　　Colin gets up to order a slice of apple pie and when he comes back, Bradley hasn't even moved. Colin reaches across the table, chin propped against one arm, and touches the pads of his fingers to Bradley's wrist.

　　At the touch, Bradley blinks and look up, startled. "Hey." he says, seeing Colin for the first time. Colin hands him his iPod, the silver casing scratched and dented from being stuffed thoughtlessly in back pockets and worn suitcases.

　　"Listen to this." Colin says, handing him the earphone. Bradley raises an eyebrow at him.

　　"Colin, I'm really not in the mood for this right now." he says tiredly, batting his hand away. Colin is silent for a moment. He drops it. He watches Bradley from the corner of his eyes, and then, without warning, reaches out again and taps his wrist.

　　"What?" Bradley says, louder than necessary. He blinks when Colin leans forward across the table to slide the earphone into the shell of one ear.

　　"Just listen." Colin says before pressing play. He keeps himself tilted forward and leaning across the table so that Bradley's earphone doesn't fall out of place. When Bradley nods and exhales, the heat of his breath fills the tiny space that separates them and Colin breathes in a little bit of it and feels warm too, in an inexplicable way.

　　Later when the song finishes (Stars' Life Effect, the most hopeful break-up song Colin has ever heard in his life), Bradley chuckles and shakes his head, yanking off his earphone. When he hands it back to Colin, their hands brush and Colin sits on his side of the table and turns his iPod off.

　　"Well?" he says. "How do you feel?"

　　Bradley shrugs. "Like I've been run over a hundred times." he says, laughing. "But that was a great song. What band is this again?"

　　"I'll make you a mix." Colin says later, and then: "Want some?" He pushes the plate of apple pie forward, warm and laced with cinnamon. He breathes in the warmth of it and Bradley leans forward and breathes in it too, his face pink.

　　Bradley stares at him for a long moment, deep in thought and unblinking, before picking up a fork and cutting a piece for himself.

　　"Wow," he splutters, around a mouthful, laughing. " wow, I can't believe I never tried this before, this thing's delicious, Colin! Why didn't you tell me about this? I love dessert, and I love pie. And this is like the Godfather of pies. Why didn't you tell me?"

　　"It never came up." Colin shrugs. "And you never asked." He turns on his iPod again to listen to The Reindeer Section, even though he's only half-paying attention and staring at the crumbs dusting Bradley's chainmail and spread all over his mouth.

　　"Colin?" Bradley says.

　　Colin doesn't look up. "Hm?"

　　"You are so weird, Colin." Bradley says and then reaches forward to cuff him on the shoulder. He pushes the plate forward, waving a forkful of apple pie in the air. "You can have the rest, mate." he says.

　　Bradley smiles, a soft twist in the corner of his mouth, and nudges Colin's ankle under the table.

　　"Thanks." he says.

　　3.

　　Colin finds the post-it note taped on the bathroom mirror. It's a note from Bradley and at three in the morning, it snaps Colin wide awake. He snatches the note off the mirror, the smile on his face splitting his mouth painfully, and sends Bradley a text message to read in the morning.

　　"Whatever, Bradley." Bradley reads the next day in between lunch and filming again. He blinks at Colin, mouth twisting wryly. "That can't be right. I sent you a thank you note and this is what I get in return. I want smiley faces, Colin, where are my smiley faces? And by the way, you still haven't made me that tribute CD yet."

　　Colin laughs when Bradley punches him lightly in the arm. "Tribute CD? Who said anything about a tribute CD?"

　　"You promised me last week," Bradley reminds him. "at lunch. You said you were going to make me a CD."

　　"I promised a mix, Bradley. Not a tribute CD."

　　Bradley shrugs and waves a hand. "That's what I said, a mix CD."

　　Colin just smiles and lets the comment pass.

　　The next day, he finds another note, only this one is taped to his cup of coffee, the edges smudged with a greasy thumbprint. He confronts Bradley later that day, waving the note in the air. "I'll ignore how inherently creepy all of this is," he says, slapping the note on the table. He sits in front of Bradley, their ankles crossing under the table

　　Bradley nudges Colin's leg with the toe of his shoe and says innocently, "It's just a post-it note, Colin." and taps his shoe against Colin's calf, three taps until Colin jerks in his seat and knocks his knee under the table.

　　"Yes, a post-it note with a smiley face." Colin says, shooting Bradley a look. Bradley just shrugs and smiles.

　　"Anyway, it's a little creepy." he continues, rubbing at the pain blooming on his knee. "Vaguely Watchmen-esque. You're not planning to kill me are you?"

　　Bradley snorts. "There you are again with your little private indie-jokes." he says, shaking his head. Colin kicks him under the table for that, but gently -- just their knees bumping together, until Bradley scoots closer, and traps Colin's legs between his.

　　Anyway, it's a little weird and a little uncomfortable, but in a bizarre way, it feels right. Colin finds that he doesn't really mind which is even weirder. Maybe he's tired after nineteen repetitive takes, maybe he's just just lazy, but either way he doesn't budge at all and lets Bradley press their legs together under the table, long and awkward, the heat of his skin seeping into layers of clothes even though Colin knows it's impossible and he's probably only imagining it.

　　Bradley's chair scrapes the floor with every forward inch and he reaches across the table, tugging at Colin's sleeve.

　　"It's not a private indie-joke." Colin says, watching the slow progression of Bradley's fingers up his wrist. He doesn't even know what that means. The pads of Bradley's fingers leave warmth in their wake, sliding across his skin. "There are no such things as private indie jokes, Bradley." he says.

　　Bradley says nothing after a long moment. He tugs at the thread sticking out of Colin's sleeve, rolling it between his fingernails. Finally, he looks up, sighing heavily, and says, dramatic and with a grandiose sweep of an arm, "Get me more of that apple pie thing we had the other time, Colin. I'm craving something warm and sweet."

　　"I'm not your slave." Colin says, indignant, squawking in laughter.

　　Bradley crinkles his mouth into a small pout and bats his eyes for effect. He kicks Colin lightly under the table for good measure and when Colin shoots him a dark look, tugs at his sleeve again, very lightly, to get back on his good graces. "Come on, Colin. Please?" he says, and curls his fingers around Colin's wrist before letting go.

　　Colin sighs, thinks of the paths of warmth Bradley has left on his skin, and relents. When they eat later on, they eat off the same plate, sharing a fork between them. Their heads ducked together, they listen to Bradley's Journey playlist on his iPod. Can't Fight This Feeling is on repeat which Bradley sings off-key on purpose and Colin laughs, a bit appalled, a bit amused.

　　"I don't even know what to say, Bradley. Your taste in music is terrible -- were you raised by gingers?"

　　"Hey!" Bradley laughs and glares at him half-heartedly.

　　Later on after work purely for the hell of it, Colin buys a stack of post-it notes from a nearby bookstore.

　　He scrawls obscure choruses on six pieces of post-it notes and tapes the first one to Bradley's back when he isn't looking. It's The Smiths' There Is A Light That Never Goes Out, and he underlines the words, "this is what good music is all about" twice with a ballpoint pen and that night Bradley surprises him by coming up to his door with the note, saying, "I can't believe you listen to the Smiths."

　　Bradley snorts, taping his own post-it note on Colin's forehead, flattening it down with a mighty thump of his palm. "I mean, they make really horrible music and their only redeeming factor is that they're English."

　　"Don't be mean, Bradley." Colin says, snatching the note off his forehead and squinting at the indecipherable handwriting. "I can't read this. What does it say?"

　　"You make me dizzy."

　　Colin blinks. "I make you dizzy? You're making me dizzy."

　　"No." Bradley rolls his eyes, then corrects himself. "Yes. Wait, no. These are song lyrics. Guess what song they're from and the band who did it."

　　Colin thinks. "They seem familiar." he says after a pause, chewing on his bottom lip. "What song is this from?"

　　"That," Bradley says, swinging an arm around his shoulder and sighing loudly. "is for me to know and you to find out, Colin."

　　Colin blinks.

　　"That's 1 for team Bradley, and nothing for team Colin!" Bradley announces gleefully.

　　"What?" Colin laughs, nudging an elbow into his ribs. Bradley carries on, smugly, ignoring his protests. "By the way, I hope you don't google that, Colin. I relied on my keen music sense to figure out just where--" he digs through the pockets of his hoodie and retrieves a crumpled yellow post-it, "--where 'to die by your side is such a heavenly way to die' was from. Very obscure, but I figured it out. The Smiths, and by the way, ew."

　　Colin laughs.

　　"So you figure out where those lyrics are from, and I'll. I'll wait." Bradley blinks. "I guess."

　　"I know this." Colin says, tapping his feet in thought, furrowing the corners of his mouth. "I know this. I promise. I do. I just... It's not The Cure, is it?"

　　"No." Bradley says, and then: "Or is it?"

　　"Bradley, come on." Colin says, and they nearly double over, laughing. Bradley sobers up and folds Colin's post-it note back into his pocket.

　　It feels good to be hysterically silly like this, it feels good to have their own secret language. Bradley is leaning against the door frame, one arm braced against the wall, his body canted forward and close enough so that Colin can smell him, soap and toothpaste, caffeine. They hug sort of awkwardly in the doorway, Colin's head caught between Bradley's warm jaw and shoulder, and he holds his breath in until Bradley steps back and lets go of him. He doesn't even know where the hug had come from, it was all sudden and spur of the moment, Bradley reaching out, probably out of the lack of something else to do, and Colin sort of wedging awkwardly into his embrace. Somehow, it seemed appropriate to end the evening like that.

　　Because, really, this is Bradley, and Colin doesn't have to worry about looking stupid or childish or maybe even a little off. They like each other enough, that's a good a thing. Bradley says goodnight and Colin says goodnight, and in the morning Colin finds a note taped to his door in Bradley's loopy handwriting.

　　He laughs and writes one back.