Kevin's POV

I sit in the backseat of Abel's car. It's small and broken, nearly what one might call a junker, but I like the feel of the worn leather seats and the smell of dust and old cinnamon gum.

Abel glances at me from the driver's seat. "You didn't bring a change of clothes." I look at myself and notice that he's absolutely right. I'd been so excited about coming to his poetry slam that I hadn't even thought about it.

"Ah, you're right... Sorry," I say awkwardly. I hope he won't mind me being in the Wiggle's uniform for the rest of the night.

Abel shakes his head, and I can hear the smile in his voice. "It's okay. I kind of expected it. There are some of mine back there that you can change into."

I look in the white paper bag sitting on the seat next to me and unfold the clothing inside. There's a white and grey flannel shirt and a pair of white skinny jeans with a black belt inside.

I give Abel a look of thanks in the rearview mirror, when Abel's friend pipes up. "Probably change before we get there, yeah? Then you won't get ragged on."

I nod, and Abel shifts in his seat, looking bashful. "I guess," he concedes.

I strip out of my clothes as discretely as possible, trying not to block the rear windshield. Abel meets my eyes in the mirror once, and we both look away with light blushes.

When I've finished changing, I take the time to appreciate the clothes. They're a little bit too big for me, the sleeves covering my fingers, the legs of the jeans severely cuffed, but I love them anyways. They smell like Abel, too, and I try not to let anyone notice me sniffing the collar

Abel's POV

I want to kill Cal.

The flashes of light skin in the backseat made me painfully aware of Kevin's presence, of his closeness. He'd even caught me watching before I'd been able to catch myself watching. I can feel myself blushing, and I do not blush.

I clear my throat, and Cal smirks at me.

I'll kill him.

We slide into the parking lot, and I rip out of the car, thankful for the slightly cooler air on my hot face and silently curse my broken air conditioning.

Kevin comes out of my car, and, damn, does he look good in my clothes. His sweater paws make him look even smaller than normal. I want to cuddle him. I look away before I do something I shouldn't.

Cal nudges me. I expect him to make a suggestive comment, but instead he says, "You know what you're gonna perform?"

I shrug, but finger the folded poem in my pocket. A revised version of Untitled, ready for a cold read, though I'll need to add to it. It's my only option, but the thought still makes me anxious. "I'll figure something out."

Kevin's POV

I sit in the wings of the stage, swinging my legs. Abel's friends sit around me, mumbling to themselves and writing, some practicing instrument fingerings or sketching. Cal is playing an intense looking air guitar, and I decide not to disturb him.

Abel is on in maybe twenty seconds, and I'm nervous for him, though I don't know why. He's an excellent poet, and he has amazing stage presence, yet I can't relax. Maybe it's just the atmosphere of extreme pre show jitters surrounding the area. I hear people clapping, and I focus on the stage.

Abel's voice floats to me through the speakers. He sits on a stool that's too tall for him, holding a microphone close to his chest. "Hi, everyone. Thanks for coming. I, um, have a kind of personal poem for you all tonight, if that's okay. I'm sorry if it doesn't make sense or it seems a little disjointed as I've just finished writing it backstage two seconds ago." This earns a chuckle from the crowd, and I wonder if he's serious. "Anyhow, without further or do, here is my poem, Past Lives."

He closes his eyes, then pops them open with a vigor I haven't seen in them before.

"A tour of our past lives presented in a slide show.

Slide one: Your head is tucked underneath my chin, your hair tickling my nose, and sunlight zig zagging across the sheets of our bed through the window. I say, "Good morning," and you just smile at me sleepily and snuggle in further. I decide to join you, because I know that we'll definitely have so many more moments like these, and I love you more than breakfast;

Slide two: I am the sun and you are the moon. We spend long days and nights watching each other, waiting, longing for those passionate moments that we share at sunrises and sunsets. It's never enough.

Slide three: We are not meant to be, and yet we are together. You hurt me and I abandon you over and over, but we still continue to collide because we love each other too much to play a different game, love the dual soundtrack of our bruises too much to let go;

Slide four: You are a stranger I see on a train, and I'm too shy to say hello. We avoid one another's secret glances for a lifetime, shy eyes catching a cheek here, an eyelash there until we could draw each other from memory. We never speak. Our gravestones end up being one row apart,

Slide five: We're childhood sweethearts. I ask you to prom, and you say yes. Three years later, I ask you to marry me. We grow old together, living a life of pure, honest love and never wanting anymore. We pass away, but our happily ever after is immortal,

Slide six: You're working on the suicide hotline when I call. I'm more only calling as a dark joke, a last hurrah; I know that I'll go through with it no matter what you say, but you try so damn hard. You go so far as to track my phone number and show up at my house. When I let you in, I realize that you must be an angel because you hold me all night, just telling me that it will be alright. You pick up the pieces of a broken me, hold them in your heart until I look a little bit more like I should, and maybe I leave a shard or two of me in there. You keep me together until you think I'll stay that way. When I manage a convincing enough lie, you leave me with a chocolate chip cookie and a smile, and I know that I can die a happy man now that I've loved. I tell you in my suicide note that it wasn't your fault,

Slide seven: I'm constantly falling for you, and you always catch me, no matter how hard it hurts to break my fall. I always patch you up and apologize afterward. You only ever smile and kiss me in response,

Slide eight: You're leaving a poetry slam and I slip a crappy poem into your pocket with my phone number on it. It's desperate and raw, and I need it to work out. I need a miracle. I pray to gods and demons that I don't even believe in. You call me later that night,

Slide eight: You sit next to me in a cafe much like this one, and you blush at everything, and I'm trying not to grin like a fool because this, you, feels so incredibly right,

Slide eight: You change clothes in the back seat of my car while I'm driving, and I try my hardest not to swerve off of the road, because I'm trying so, so hard not to let my eyes wander toward your figure,

Slide eight: I'm sitting on a stool or something at a poetry slam. You're somewhere in the room, in the dark behind the spotlight, listening to me read this, and I'm hoping that you don't think I'm weird, because we've only just met. I hope that you'll let me take you out again. I hope I haven't scared you away. Mostly, though, I just hope that you're willing to give this lifetime a shot."

When the applause begins, Abel looks directly at me, and something in his eyes makes my knees go to jelly. The poem sets in, and I blush, pulling my legs to my chest and hiding my face behind them. I hear Cal snort.

After he's bowed, Abel runs to me backstage. His hair flies around in general disarray, his eyes glowing. "Hey, did you like it?" He sounds casual, but he's chewing his lip like he's nervous.

I nod, awed. I want to say something, but the words don't even make it to my throat, so I settle for a hug instead. Abel hugs back, wrapping his arms around my waist and lifting me off of the ground. I hold back a quiet squeal, but a bit of it escapes and I feel Abel hold me tighter.

He doesn't let go when he sets me down, instead whispering in my ear, "Does this mean that you'll go out with me again?"

My face heats up, and I want to scream yes, but then I remember what I've promised myself. I've got to tell Damon that I've liked him tomorrow. I wince at the thrill that goes through me at the thought of him, almost wishing it'd go away. "I'd love to, but I have some loose ends to tie up, you see."

Abel nods in understanding, a glint in his eye. "I see. I understand. I'll wait for you." Then he checks the time. "It's nearly ten thirty. If you want, I'll take you home. I got an early spot so you wouldn't have to wait for me too long."

Thankful for his thoughtfulness, I nod, and he drives me home. It's nearly silent, but it's a comfortable silence that I rarely share with anyone, and it's nice.

He walks me to the door, and, just before the it closes behind me, I hear a soft, "See you tomorrow?"

The corners of my lips twitch, and I say, "Yeah, I'll see you tomorrow." I shut the door on Abel's smile.