#Poetfilm ft. Alice Harmon.

[eueclid]

“ Do you think I can make a word longer than the board? ” Conor looks up from his letters, not nearly enough to make a word longer than the board, nor any good combination to make any word longer than the board, and gives Alice a small smile. Their discussion about Henry Miller had drawn to a close, ending with Conor asking @poetfilm how her cat was doing. A cat named Henry Miller. He loved it. As soon as he's resigned to not being able to make a word as long as the board, he places a couple tiles down, spelling skies. “ Nine points. ” He muses, reaching into the pouch to grab more letters. “ Have you read Silas Marner? I think that's the next one I'm gonna buy for you. ”

[eueclid]

He wants a cigarette. He wants to be a thousand miles away. He wants to kiss her again. He feels like his head and his heart are going a million miles a minute. Conor stares back at her, hands still cupping her cheeks, and she brings up Shirley. It makes him smile, a small one but a genuine one. “ Yeah. That's why her books are so terrifying — it comes from a real place for her. She doesn't have to imagine what it would feel like to be that scared, she knows. And even better, she knows how to share it with us. ”

Anyone else but Alice might find it weird that they choose to have this sort of conversation while they're sitting this close and while Conor feels like he might kiss her again, but the truth of it is that there's nothing more like them than this. His eyes study her face as he awaits her response, and he silently presses his lips together as his mind races. Does she want him to kiss her again? She might, because surely if she didn't, she might have hit him or stood up by now. Unless she was too afraid of him? God, he hoped not. He liked her. He hoped she liked him too.

So he just does it. He leans in again and kisses Alice, this one longer than the last one. And then he kisses her again. And again. And then he pulls back and opens his eyes, and stares at her deep brown eyes. Sorry, it's just that I've been waiting forever to kiss you, he thinks, but instead continues to talk about Shirley Jackson. “ And did you know she didn't even believe in ghosts? Funny, when you think about her most popular stories. ” He says, hands remaining against Alice's cheeks. Finally, he drops them, and his glance falls to his thighs. “ You can tell me to shut up, by the way. ” Conor says rather quietly, something he's said to plenty of people before. You can also tell me to never kiss you again, he thinks, but doesn't say because he doesn't want to hear her answer. “ Uh. Wanna smoke? I think it's low tide right now. We can take a walk. Or we can stay here. Ignore me. ”

most things are already typed out in alice's head long before they happen. there's a script for everyone to follow, herself included. sometimes, and this might be one of those cases, she forgets her lines. obviously, this isn't ideal; although improvisation isn't inherently a bad thing, it does usually lead to some last minute rewrites for everyone else too. she hasn't memorized their parts yet. see the problem?

it's impossible to think about the sundial now, despite shirley jackson normally be an ideal topic for both alice and conor. (she firmly believes that shirley's gift is not actually embodying horror, but rather creating terror. which is a completely different feeling.) maybe it's not worth it — a stolen kiss for a song or a poem — when it comes with these side effects. that prolonged dread, that perplexing air surrounding it all. she wonders for a second, if conor intends to ask what it's all for. thank god, he doesn't. she's not sure she has an answer for it anyways.

conor moves closer. he's going off-script too. alice considers finding a reason to be on her feet instead — impromptu cocktail or smoke break, perhaps — but remains still and in place. she decides it's alright to let him kiss her this time, if only because she'd forgotten her lines anyways. (she imagines it will all reset after they say goodbye later. she'll go to bed and memorize all the rewrites. it will be fine.) but it's the last linger, his mouth against her brow, that gives her more pause than anything. how strangely gentle it is; familiar only as a concept. she stares back for awhile and finds her fingertips resting against conor's wrist. as always, there are many stupid decisions she could very well consider. she's already thought about them all. better not yet — he still thinks kindly of her. don't ruin it.

"you didn't have to do that. i was just curious." it's not untrue, although she fails to mention the full extent of that curiosity. (a few fleeting considerations, and only once when he was actually in the room. it would be far worse if he'd been present at more impulsive times.) now, back to the woman of the hour: "you know why shirley wrote so many stories about houses, right? she was agoraphobic — that's why houses are always these sort of traps in her stories. like hill house and the blackwood house. the halloran house is that too; it's like a dream world separate from everything else outside of it."

[eueclid]

He was enamored with his book, a brand new copy of The Sundial by his favorite author ever. Sitting in silence with Alice wasn't something new or uncomfortable, rather he enjoyed it. Most thought him strange, weird, and from what he was able to tell, she thought none of those things. If she did, she kept it to herself, which Conor liked, even if he preferred that she not find him weird at all.

Julia and Arabella had just arrived at the Halloran house. He might have said something about the symbolism behind it had she not reached out to touch his cheek — he didn't even know about the eyelash, and wouldn't, instead choosing to focus on the fact she'd kissed him. After that, he wasn't so interested in sharing what he thought about Julia and Arabella. Not right now, at least.

Like usual, when Conor turned his big blue eyes to look at Alice, she wasn't looking at him. He sets his book face down, open on the last page he'd read so he doesn't lose his spot when he inevitably comes back to the book. The last time he was in this situation was shortly after his book came out, some girl who'd read it and thought a kiss was the perfect was to thank him. He was confused, maybe because he didn't actually want that girl to kiss him. It wasn't the same with Alice, he'd liked it despite the short duration of it. Maybe he'll kiss her too, if she'll look at him.

What does he even say? Did you just kiss me? Obvious answer. Yes. And besides, if Conor asks her this, she might say no. Can I kiss you? No, it was too direct. But maybe she'd like that? He felt useless when it came to flirting. Do you want to hear what Julia and Arabella arriving at the Halloran house means? What you want isn't always good for you. She tries to leave and it doesn't work later, remember? We ( a general we, of course ) could learn from this. But would she be upset he didn't mention her kissing him? He was bad at this kind of stuff — but he liked Alice. A lot, actually.

Maybe he shouldn't say anything. Maybe that would be the best — but the thought keeps itching at his mind. Just kiss her. He thinks, slowly scooting himself down the couch until he's right next to her. She still doesn't look at him, and he wonders what's going through her mind. She doesn't regret it, does she? Maybe he should move before she does. Conor switches to his knees, and turns her head towards him. Then, with hands on both of her cheeks, he returns her kiss. Slightly longer than hers, and once he pulls back, he moves in to kiss her forehead. Just for good measure.

somewhere along the way, they'd developed a routine. one of them talks — it's almost always about a book or a poem or some form of writing — and the other one listens. an occasional interjection here and there, a pause for questions and opinions. right now, it's conor's turn to talk and alice's turn to listen.

readers are dangerous people. give them a paragraph and more often than not, they'll run away with it, claim it as their own and imagine a new life for it. writers are worse. they might actually follow through on that. conor, worst of all, is the most dangerous version of both these traits — the kind that doesn't even realize what kind of weapon he's holding. there's no ego, no trace of superiority beneath stubborn genius. he is unlike alice in that way; all the power went her head a long time ago. a small part of her still thinks she's invincible sometimes. conor never pretends to be anything close to that.

somewhere along the way, she got distracted. there's an eyelash sitting above his cheekbone, out of place and so far unnoticed. he has very distinct eyelashes; she's quite sure that means nothing to him too, which is all the more bothersome. she's found herself looking on more than one occasion — looking for details, for clues — only to look away just as quickly before he takes any notice. she forgets to look away this time. instead, as conor is immersed in his thought, her thumb reaches out for a moment to brush away that stray lash. barely even a gesture of anything, it may well have gone unnoticed if it weren't for the rest. she kisses him quickly and without warning, lingering for one second too long, before pulling away again as nothing happened, as if it doesn't faze her in the slightest.

it's safe to assume a few things: she'll go home later, pretend it hadn't happened or that it was not the careless thing that it was. there will be a poem, or maybe even some semblance of a melody composed during the odd hours of a sleepless night. if they're lucky, it won't be anything worthwhile, she'll scrap it and move on easily, and do her best not to think of it again. if they're unlucky, it will be the kind she reads over and over, dwells on for far too long, and nothing good can possibly come of that now. it's this thought now that reminds her to look away. alice averts her gaze and says nothing at all, despite the all the sentences starting to form in her mind already.

@eueclid, conor + impulsive kiss.