Of Locked Doors and Twisted Paperclips

The room is mostly empty.

There’s a few cardboard boxes laying discarded in the corner. Trinkets spill out from the ragged openings - frayed charms made of thread, pens that lost their ink years before, and an assortment of paperclips coated in a thin layer of dust.

The paperclips are scattered, now, with a boy sitting in the midst of the mess. He’s got his head down, brow furrowed, nimble hands twisting at the stiff end of a dark blue paperclip. Despite his efforts, the paperclip remains unyielding, stubborn to the pressure placed upon it. His frown grows deeper, his movements getting more aggressive. It’s starting to feel stuffy, despite the cool air being filtered in from the rusty vents.

A girl stands next to him, arms crossed, a bored look on her face. Tap, tap, tap. Her foot comes down on the cracked tiles incessantly. In the silent room, the noise fills the air. The rhythm being tapped out seems to demand his attention, demanding him to look at the girl. Tap, tap, tap.

He ignores it. The tapping will cease eventually. For now, he needs to focus on twisting the shape of the colored plastic. 

Tap, tap, tap. Tap, tap.

Then it stops. He’s right. Of course he is. He knows her.

 Her foot pauses on the ground, and he waits for words to take the place of the tapping that interrupted the silence before.

“Caelum.”

She sounds annoyed.

When doesn’t she, though, Caelum thinks.

Caelum hums softly, digging a nail into the side of the clip. “Something wrong?”

It’s not very light in the room, either - the only light being filtered in is from a chipped wall - but he can imagine her scowl regardless. He can see the tightening of her jaw as she clenches her teeth. He can see her eyes narrow, dark and cutting as they pierce him. 

He’s no stranger to being on the receiving end of her glares, really. 

“You’re going to get wrinkles if you frown so much.”

Caelum smiles a bit at his dry quip. She doesn’t respond.

Tap, tap, tap.

“Are you done yet.”

“Is that a statement or a question?”

“A question.”

Twist. The clip finally gives, pressing outwards into a wide arc.

“Didn't sound like one to me.”

Another tap, sounding closer to a stomp. It sends paperclips skittering across the floor. An assortment of greys, blues, reds, and even yellows.

“Well it is one.”

So answer, is the unspoken part of the sentence. He opts to ignore again.

“Thanks for the clarification, Lillian.”

She lets out a breath between gritted teeth, low and stretched out. Like a cat hissing.

In the back of his head, he wonders why he enjoys riling her up so much. 

It’s not a question he can answer, so he pushes it out of his head for now. That’s a problem that future him can deal with. 

Lillian clicks her tongue. “You’re so slow,” she huffs, leaning down to peek at his work.

She’s too close to him. His breath hitches ever so slightly. 

The heat returns again, rolling up in sweltering waves, making his shirt stick to his skin. He closes his eyes for a moment. Breaths out slowly. Ignores his clammy fingers that have frozen on the clip.

“Then you try, ‘Your Majesty’,” he retorts, his sharp jibe barely concealed. She doesn’t react to the edged tone in his voice.

Neither of them have ever been one to back down from a challenge - and that certainly isn’t going to change now - so he’s not surprised when there’s a bit of shuffling before she’s plopping down beside him.

“Hand it here.”

“Get your own.”

“No.”

She moves quickly, grabbing at the clip. He’s taken off guard, only able to register the slight brush of their fingers before she’s setting back.

Without anything to do, he drops his hands to the side and watches her work. Her movements are harsh. Prodding roughly at the clip, threatening to snap the plastic into pieces. The outline of her side profile is illuminated ever so slightly by the pale light seeping in from the cracks.

Oh wow.

She looks like those sculptures he would see in a museum. The ones that Caelum never spent too long gazing at, in fear time would slip away from him as the world narrowed to just him and the art in front of him.

Cold, distant, and beautiful.

He looks away.

Just as he always does.

The silence stretches on and he starts to feel uncomfortable. His leg starts to jitter without rhythm. Varying taps, rising and falling erratically in volume, until it evens out.

Tap, tap, tap.

Now it’s him filling up the silence.

Tap, tap, tap.

Why is he nervous? 

Tap, tap, tap.

She looks good today. She looks good everyday.

Tap, tap, tap.

“What’s wrong with this dumb paperclip?”

He looks over again. “Have you considered that maybe it’s the user who’s dumb?”

“No. Shut up.”

You’re cute when you’re angry.

He doesn’t say anything. Only chuckles softly. A light-hearted sound.

“Don’t laugh at me. You couldn’t do it either,” she scowls.

She does look good when she’s mad. Would telling her that make her angrier? Or would she grace him with that soft smile he sees on an occasion from a distance? He wonders about that. 

In the end, though, he takes the easier route. A cheeky response, to push out a childish pretense.

“Better than you.”

The sound of nails clicking against the clip stops. Suddenly he’s looking directly into her eyes, narrowed just as he had imagined before. 

She really does look like she belongs in a museum, does Lillian. Along with all the other pristine works there. She doesn’t belong here with him. A dusty, abandoned room full of junk not fit for even the rats.

His nails dig into his palms. Warmth and pain blossom from the action, spreading from his hands and cheeks straight to his foggy brain.

Warmth… from his cheeks?

He jerks back.

She’s inched forward, her nose nearly touching his, a dark expression still plastered on. Close enough for her breath to hit him square in the face. Close enough for him to see her eyelashes in detail, just barely fluttering.

Close enough for him to start panicking.

He opens his mouth to ask what she’s doing, but his parched throat thwarts his plans. 

This isn’t good.

Or is it?

His mind’s certainly not complaining about the position, although maybe his heart is. It’s beating against his ribs harshly. Loudly. Strongly. His ears are ringing too. 

How pathetic. To be reduced to this state merely from being close to her. 

He feels a bead of sweat form on his temple.

“Are you going to take that back?”

Oh. She was talking.

“What?” he croaks out.

“Take it back.”

He doesn’t think he can, even if he was willing. She hasn’t backed up. In fact, she’s only gotten closer. Caelum’s never really been good with being too close to others. 

He’d make a joke right about now. To break the suffocating tension. To get out of this situation he wasn’t prepared for. But his words die in his throat because, really, isn’t this what he’s been wanting for a while? Maybe not exactly, but something close. Very close.

That’s creepy, he tells himself.

It is.

He doesn’t really care.

He wants to get closer. Wants to risk it.

This whole room is like a haven for bad decisions.

Feels nice, though.

And he wants it, so it can’t be that bad, can it?

His gaze drops. They’re maybe three inches apart.

Two, now.

A strand of hair falls from its place tucked behind her ear. Through the pounding of his heart, he thinks he can hear her breath match the pace of his. Fast, uncontrolled. Heavy.

One inch.

“Caelum? Lillian?”

And the spell is broken. Just like that.

Her eyes are flitting away, locking on the door barring the two of them from the outside world. There’s a pause before she’s getting up. Her hand lingers for just a moment. He can see how her scowl has returned from hearing the call. Of hearing the promise of rescue from the room.

He’s annoyed too but hides it well.

“In here,” she calls lifelessly.

There’s clicking from outside the door. Someone’s fidgeting with the locked knob. In the time it takes for the door to be unlocked, Caelum’s on his feet. Brushing his clothes off. Nudging the clips over to the cardboard boxes with his foot. Stealing one last glance at Lillian before stiffly focusing his gaze directly in front of him.

It swings open, and artificial light shines in. He has to blink a few times to adjust to the black spots dancing in front of his eyes. Their friend is looking at the two of them, a look of concern on their face.

“You guys okay? Sorry about that, they thought it was a funny prank. I had to threaten them to fish the key out of their pockets.”

Lillian just shrugs while Caelum lets the corners of his mouth quirk upwards as he reassures them. Sure, he’s annoyed, but not at his friend. After all, it wasn’t their fault that he was too much of a coward to embrace the opportunity presented.

He was the one who had let it slip away.

Then their friend is turning away and heading down the hall. He sets out to follow them, eyes dropping to the floor. It’s smooth and polished, not like the cracked tile in the room. 

Fit for a museum.

It’s him who doesn’t belong anymore. Not out in this place. Not here.

Tap, tap, tap.

Hurried footsteps. Something’s slipping into his hand.

His train of thought breaks as his gaze shifts over slightly.

She has her hand wrapped loosely around his.

He blinks. 

What’s going on?

His confusion makes him almost miss the cool press of plastic against his palm, overwhelmed by the subtle heat coming from her fingers interlocked with his. 

“I’m returning your stupid paperclip,” is all she says.

The positioning is odd, and after a few moments, Caelum can hear a soft clink as the paperclip falls out from their joined hands.

She doesn’t let go of his hand.

They don’t fit together like puzzle pieces. Their knuckles knock together and he can already feel his hands starting to sweat. It’s almost painful, the rocking motion from their steps down the hall causing the bones to shift awkwardly against each other. He can already imagine the bruising his hand will have from how she’s squeezing tighter, nails digging crescent-shaped marks into his already marred skin.

He hopes that she’ll never let go.