When you have colorful and booming fireworks attempting to kiss the starry night, a large garden with walls made of flowers and vines, caffeine, and booze in your system, you might end up like Dylan and Lien who are nothing but bodies sprawled across the grass.
Dylan has both hands behind his head, staring at the marvelous display of sparks before him.
They ended up here. Dylan swears he doesn't know where 'here' is, they've just stumbled upon this house after a party their friend hosted.
The neighbor's stereo system was loud enough for the music to reach their ears.
He inhales a lungful of air mixed with the stench of alcohol and flowers.
"Baby doll," Lien whispers and sits up.
He looks at her; her delicate features have faded under the skies. He could still see the glimmer behind her pupils, though, and recognize what they meant.
She was frozen as a statue, and then she was all over him.
There were slurred kisses and flesh trapped in lips as her hands glides over his arms and chest, building up tension until Dylan lifts her by her waist and traps his stomach in between her thighs.
Lien's lips skim over his neck, the dip of his collarbones down to his chest, and it's all happening so fast that the only thing that Dylan knows is that Lien's distressed jeans just have to go off.
He does what he can and unbuttons her jeans, throws off his shirt, and discards every piece of fabric, isolating skin from skin.
When Lien gets impatient, she takes him inside her and begins rocking back and forth.
He groans, but it doesn't seem enough to express the mumbo-jumbo of feelings and rapid sensations stirring inside him. He digs his fingers so deep into her hipbones that they'll probably leave purplish bruises in time.
Quick and painful, just the way she likes them.
She moves harder and faster; Dylan's just a pile of joints and bones writhing beneath her. He opens his eyes and looks at her riding about him and the stars that seemed to be dancing behind her.
She tightens around him. Dylan reaches his peak, and it leaves him gasping before Lien decides to kiss the remaining air out of his lungs.
Before they could recover, something moved in the dark. Lien's head snaps up, and she scampers about to grab her clothes and put them on in the dark.
Dylan doesn't start moving until he hears an angry growl that sounds like it's getting closer. "Punks! Get off my garden, or I'll have to call the police!"
"Fuck," Dylan grabs his jeans and slips into them so fast he must have been able to beat The Flash.
"Yes, that's what we just did." A pair of soft hands tows his arm, and together they ran laughing despite the heavy footsteps rushing after them and the sharp branches tickling their skin.
Lien looks back to see a middle-aged man with rolls of fat juggling against each other, struggling with a vacuum cleaner in his hands.
She stares at Dylan and grins.
One minute they're two teenagers running around half-naked in a neighborhood they don't know with a fuming fat man that resembles Winnie the Pooh after them, and then everything felt like a movie and went in slow motion.
Because when Lien shares a mischievous smile, Dylan has one of those moments when someone does something terribly random—like drinking, sleeping, reading, making silly faces, or anything—that gets you off guard, and you can't help but think:
Wow, you're wonderful.
* * *
Lien is a mushroom.
Appearing out of nowhere, even in odd places—like in Dylan's shower at dawn or behind a large trashcan in one of the school's hallways—sometimes leaving traces in Dylan's music notebook, using petals that smell just like her.
Dylan isn't too bothered by this in the beginning (he thinks it's cute). But one day, just as quickly as she entered his life, she left.
There was no reminder. No notice, no note. Not even a trace.
Lien disappeared like a puff of smoke or a flicker of candlelight.
And then it wasn't Dylan and Lien. It was just Dylan and wherethefuckdidLiendisappearto?
And God knows Dylan tried to find her.
Flipping through crisp newspapers for any article regarding accidents or suicides, half-hoping that he won't find her name inked between the lines.
Asking his friends if they had heard anything about her.
Waiting for the police to pick up the phone as it rings and spring leaves whisper renewal on his stained glass windows.
When nothing helpful came around, Dylan tears calendar pages after pages before burning them, then sprinting to his friends who would comfort him with words like; she was real, believe, faith, alright.
Dylan is a dump of enraged, betrayed, shocked, lonely, and broken. It's enough to drive anyone insane—the wanting.
A yearning that sings from every fiber, every atom placed in his body, infinitely hoping and never satisfied; his throat tightening him to the point of choking on air, hands curling to clutch memories and feelings, fingertips reaching for someone who'd never come back, and lips whispering a name that won't do the same.
In the end, it turns out that Dylan and Lien were fire—brilliant embers burning into an inferno.
And what he didn't know then was that all fires ended in ash.
* * *