Chapter 27 - Big Words

                                    

                                          
A/N: guys I swear I don't mean to keep updating only once a month 😭 I just have a lot going on lol but I swear these chapters will get better and more frequent. Also happy one year to this story lmaoooo maybe in another year it'll finally be finished and I can move on to the other fics I wanna write 👀
SOTD: New York City by Cub


The minute they were alone, Julian's lips were on Sylvie's, and then on other places entirely.
"Sheesh. Is this why you wanted to be alone?" She asked. 
"Naw," he breathed huskily, "Wanted to have a scintillating conversation."
"That's a big word — scintillating." 
"Don't sound so shocked," he muttered, his thumb caressing the apple of her cheek. She wondered vaguely whether it felt hot beneath his touch, but coherent thoughts were hard to form when she could still feel sticky saliva on her clavicle.
Sylvie's hands groped the collar of his vest, both to anchor herself and to pull him in closer. Julian wrapped a strong arm around the small of her waist. They were almost as one, each curve in one's silhouette filled by the other. 
"I ever tell you I missed you?" Julian asked tenderly. Sylvie's head ended around the bottom of his nose. If he tilted his head, he could smell her shampoo. It was the fancy kind that cost $15 at the grocery store and came in a pretty bottle. He never saw the point in such luxury, but if she stopped using it, he knew he'd be disappointed.
"Yeah, you did. Did I ever say I missed you back?"
"A few times, but you could say it again," said Julian. He hated that she had to miss him, and hated even more how much he loved to hear it.
"When will I get to stop saying it?" Sylvie asked, a little more bluntly than she meant to.
"Soon," he promised. "Soon, baby. I'll be at BFD and a few more festivals after that, but once fall hits I'm all yours."
"That's no good," she mumbled petulantly. She'd be tied up in the dreaded new album by then. The word 'soon' hardly meant anything anymore.
Julian kissed her again to distract her. It worked perhaps a little too well; he distracted himself in the process, concerned with nothing but the woman who so enraptured him. Tendrils of black hair, perpetually in the way, were tossed behind her shoulder as she offered herself to him. 
Sylvie forgot herself entirely as she allowed Julian to caress her. As their lips were intertwined, he continued to press her harder against him, roving his touch along the length of her back and then even lower. His wayward fingers crept underneath the neckline of her shirt, brushing just south of her collarbone.
"We're on a balcony," she said, suddenly remembering. 
Julian smirked obnoxiously. "That we are."
Fighting a not inconsiderable quantity of embarrassment, she quipped, "People can see us, smartass."
Julian made a show of looking around on the dark street. Though a few cars could be seen passing by, there was nobody on the sidewalk, nor were any of his neighbors on their own balconies. "They can't," he said, resuming his earlier activities.
As he leaned into her neck, she yelped, "Someone will! Just what do you think is gonna happen out here?"
"You tell me, Miss Fowler." 
"I think we're gonna scar the neighbors if this goes any further."
"Scar? They wish they could get in on this." He gestured at their bodies. Sylvie's scandalized expression made him laugh. 
"Be serious. Someone would probably call the cops."
"Yeah, well, New York City cops ain't too smart."
Valiantly she suppressed a snort. "Oh, aren't you funny."
"You wanna go back in?" Julian asked with sincerity. "If you're cold, you can have my vest." Never mind that it was seventy five degrees out.
Sylvie tilted her head consideringly. "Not yet. It's nice out. We never did actually smoke, did we?"
He reached into his vest pocket and pulled out a cigarette — only one, since the natural assumption was that they would share. Someone had forgotten a lighter on the railing. 
The whole scene was familiar — too familiar. How many times had she and Julian stood one one of their respective balconies, smoking and quietly pretending not to be disappointed about the infrequency of their assignations? Worse, what if the disappointment belonged to her alone? She was sick to death of it, all of it.
"Come with me," said Julian. "Just for BFD, at least. It'll only be a couple of days."
"I can't," she replied, more or less automatically. She couldn't, she never could. "I'm not some groupie."
"I know you aren't — that's not what I'm trying to say."
"Then what are you trying to say?"
"Why's it so unbelievable that I just want you there? Jesus, you think all I want is convenient pussy?" He sighed, knowing there was no point in bickering. "I'm sorry, Miss Fowler. You gotta stop thinkin' like that — I like your company, believe it or not. So come with me."
Sylvie turned away. "I can't... unless..."
"Unless what?"
"Jules, how many festivals are you playing at this summer?"
"A few; Y100, T in the Park, Randall's Island, V-Festival, stuff like that. Why?"
"Are any of them still booking?"
His face lit up as he caught on. "You saying you'll be there with me?"
"Well, maybe I could convince Farrah to book me and Wildwood for a few of them. Hell, she's probably already looking into it; she wants us to perform the title track live before it releases as a single."
"We can travel together, if you want. The guys can manage sleeping and eating without me."
"Won't Ryan mind? Won't your bandmates mind? They're your friends, they'd miss you." 
"Fuck them," said Julian resolutely. Ryan most certainly would mind, but he would have to deal with it. The only person in the world with power over him was the woman tucked against his side.
Sylvie crossed her arms self-consciously. "Do you honestly want to spend that long with me? I'd probably drive you bonkers—"
"I do. If you'll let me." He held the cigarette to her lips. "Who the fuck says 'bonkers' anyway?"
"I do, so you can put a sock in it. I'll see what Farrah says. T in the Park is a couple months away. Suppose I still have a chance at getting a spot." It wasn't a promise by any means, but it was close enough. 
"What's the track you're supposed to perform, anyway?"
"It's called Fusillade."
"Huh. Now that's a big word."