Special Episode: Faith
This episode is part of a larger story, Soft Touch. If you haven’t yet, you can go back and read it from the beginning right here.
The sky is a melting shade of orange, scudded with deep purple clouds. A rich, heavy dusk is settling over Ketterbridge, the kind that only falls in the summer.
It makes the blossoming earth give off a sweet, green fragrance that makes itself known on every deep breath. The clouds softly form a wall over the sinking sun, casting everything into cool shadows. Broken up here and there by the hazy tangerine light spilling through the gaps.
Alix quickly breaks her gaze away from the sky and whips around as Ripley steps out onto the sidewalk, closing the door after himself. Their eyes meet, and a stressed-out blush begins to burn across Alix’s nose and cheeks. She hangs her head, having trouble looking at him.
“Hey - listen, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you were in the middle of a business thing. We can talk another time. I don’t want you to-”
Alix stops mid-sentence as Ripley gently catches her hands in his own. He bends his knees and twists over so he can look up into her face, and she can’t help but let out a soft, startled giggle when she sees him so awkwardly contorted. She lifts her head, shaking it in fond exasperation.
“Hey. You’re fine.” Ripley straightens up, drawing her gaze up with his, an affectionate smile twinkling in his warm green eyes. “Raj promised he can handle it on his own, and he knows me better than to think I’m gonna make a habit of running off during meetings.”
Alix winces apologetically, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Well, I hope he knows I won’t make a habit of interrupting them.”
“I promise, it’s fine. I’ve always got time for you.” Ripley starts walking backwards down the sidewalk, using his grasp on Alix’s hands to pull her along with him. “Can I just grab my backpack and my board from the workshop real quick? I should probably go home after this, so I’m just gonna bring them.”
The nerve-wracking showers of anxiety that have been tormenting Alix ever since she made her mind up - they come to a sudden stop. Warm surprise floods through her instead, putting a delighted smile on her face. She’s been dying to see how things are coming along in there.
She smiles gratefully up at Ripley. Less than a minute with him, and the sunbeams are already breaking through the clouds.
“Yeah, alright,” she answers, trying her best to sound all casual. “I want to change my shoes, anyways.”
Ripley had already pushed open the door, but he stops just inside and offers his arm to Alix. She follows him in, curls her fingers around his bicep, and holds onto him for support as she gets her heels off.
Her bare feet touch down onto clean, glossy floors, a startling coolness in the summer warmth. The floors look very different from the last time she was here. When she lifts her gaze and lets it roam, she finds the whole place is like that. All cleaned up.
“Wow,” Alix blurts out, more than a little impressed. “You and Raj did all this?”
“All we’ve mostly done down here is clean,” Ripley calls back, crossing the showroom floor to grab his board and his backpack. “And the guys have definitely been helping us out, but - yeah. The team did it. Looks a lot better this way, right?”
Better isn’t a good enough word for it. With just a deep clean, the replacing of a few crumbling elements, and the lights repaired - the place suddenly strikes Alix as brimming with potential.
Not that it felt empty of potential the first time she came here. No, she had a deep, instinctive feeling that Ripley had chosen the right place as soon as she walked through the door. But now she can see further ahead.
Ripley plans for this floor to be a board shop and showroom. Alix can picture that so clearly. He’s talked about holding small art exhibitions in this space. Now Alix can see that, too. She can imagine voices and laughter in here, and the workshop bustling on the level above, and Ripley in his apartment at the top of the steps. Planning his next Transgressive piece, cutting stencils.
The air seems rich with possibility. Alix stands in the center of everything, gazing up at the rafters, breathing it in.
Ripley stops beside Alix, apparently relaxed, but holding tight to his board. Suddenly she feels like he’s the one trying to be casual.
“Do you like it?” he asks, watching her look around. “We’re gonna paint the walls down here darker, think that might be cool with the yellow cedar. But we’re starting with fixing up my apartment, since that needs to be done first.”
Alix gives herself a shake, then drops to sit down on the floor so she can put on her socks. “How’s it looking? Your apartment?”
“Not too bad. Not ready for me to move in yet, but it will be by graduation.” Ripley flashes Alix an excited smile as he sets his stuff down and unzips his backpack. “I actually brought over the first few things I’m moving in.”
“Ooh, big moment. Which things did you bring?”
“Just some work stuff.”
Alix looks up from pulling on her shoes so she can watch as Ripley pulls the stuff out of his backpack. A paintbrush rack, a bundle of thick, colorful paint pens, a - crowbar? And… a set of bolt cutters.
A burst of startled laughter escapes Alix the instant her eyes land on them.
“Oh my god, Rip! Are you serious?”
He pauses, looking down at the bolt cutters, then looks back at Alix, confused. “Doesn’t this seem like a good thing to not be hiding in my bedroom at my parents’ house?”
“Of course it does! That’s not the point! It’s just that that’s part of your work stuff!”
Ripley’s blonde brows furrow, his sweet eyes baffled. “How am I supposed to get in places if I don’t have-?”
“No, I understand, it’s-” Alix breaks off, gazing up at Ripley in helpless adoration, then drops her face into her hands. “Oh, god. Forget it.”
Puzzled but smiling, Ripley sets his stuff aside, zips up his backpack, and straightens up. “Ready to go?”
Alix ties up her shoes, then accepts Ripley’s hand and lets him pull her to her feet. Her soft canvas Keds feel like pure mercy after the high heels, and she breathes out a huge sigh of relief. After a moment’s deliberation, she unbuttons her professional white work top and pulls it off, leaving herself in the delicate, moss-green velvet top she had beneath.
Ripley watches her with some lingering, unreadable warmth in his eyes as she fixes up her hair and runs her fingernail along the edge of her lips, neatening up her rosy lip gloss.
But she’s not ready to go. She’s aching to stay, at least a little longer. She turns slowly on the spot, gazing around at the showroom. Her reluctance to leave is overwhelming, almost physically holding her back from the door.
“Where’s everything going to go?” she asks abruptly, turning back to Ripley. “I see the counter, but how are you displaying the boards? And did you guys start building up any stock, yet? Can I see? I wanted to check out the workshop floor, anyways.”
She blushes a little when she hears how her words spilled out in such a ridiculous rush, but Ripley blinks in surprise, then breaks into a slow, eager smile.
“Hey, yeah, I - I can give you the full tour, if you want.” He drops his backpack and his skateboard so fast that the wheels clatter loudly on the floor. He blushes hard, then sheepishly rubs his elbow. “Only if you want to hear everything. If not, it’s totally fine.”
Alix does want to hear everything, so she nods, biting her lip hopefully. Ripley smiles in warm relief, then catches her hand and draws her deeper into the space.
“Okay, so should we start with the workshop? Ralph wrote an option into our business plan where Raj could teach some woodworking classes for local kids. That would help us make enough money to keep going, but we wouldn’t have to charge too much per student…”
Alix listens closely as Ripley launches into his explanation. But mostly, she watches.
Her eyes are on Ripley, not the space. She watches as he eagerly shows her around, holding out his colorful hands to frame things in a picture for her, earnestly explaining his vision.
He can paint with his words, too. Maybe it’s his energy, or his contagious excitement, or the dedication he and Raj have already shown in buying the place, fixing it up, making all these plans. Their commitment to their vision. Their faith and belief in it. She can see it shining in Ripley’s beautiful green eyes, hear it in the words that he speaks.
And that’s just the thing.
Alix believes in it, too.
~~~~
Alix and Ripley walk very slowly together down the sidewalk, so Alix can read as she goes.
“Wow,” she finally says, skimming through the last page with impressed eyes. “Ralph is really good at this. I mean, it doesn’t follow any standard professional format for a business plan that I’ve ever seen, but still.”
“Ralph is, um… not what you’d call conventionally trained,” Ripley explains, slipping his hands into the pockets of his black jeans. “Does things his own way.”
“Then he’s the right person to help with your business,” Alix answers, to a soft laugh from Ripley. She flips through all of the pages again, her eyebrows furrowing. “The only problem is that I don’t see anything in here about promotion, or public relations, or press.”
Ripley tilts his head to the side, faintly surprised. “Oh. Guess I didn’t think of that.”
“I’m surprised that Ralph didn’t. He thought of everything else.”
“His business is…” Ripley takes a second, then finishes - “Not the kind of business that really needs those things.”
Alix can tell that Ripley is choosing his words carefully. She narrows her eyes at him in confusion, but she doesn’t feel the need to push the issue.
“Well, it’s really good, Rip.” She tucks the business plan into her bag, then realizes what she’s doing and quickly looks up at Ripley. “Is it okay if I take it home? I have a few notes.”
“Of course you do.” He breathes out a soft, affectionate laugh, then gently tugs on her pink lock of hair. “And yeah, of course you can. That’s why I gave it to you in the first place. I want to know what you think.”
A pleased blush spreads across Alix’s face, and she ducks her head to hide it. “I promise I won’t put stickers all over it.”
“Terrible news,” Ripley says gravely. “Because I’m not taking it back unless it has stickers all over it.”
Alix lets out a choke of laughter, shoves his shoulder, and closes her bag back up. “How’s Raj feeling about everything? You guys are business partners, now. You should check in with each other on that pretty regularly.”
“He’s happy,” Ripley says firmly, without a trace of doubt.
“How can you tell?”
“He’s been beatboxing at random. A lot.”
Alix lets out a sputter of laughter, gives her shoulders a helpless shrug. “I guess that’s as good an indicator as any.”
“Seriously, he’s hype. He’s been talking about holding some kind of celebratory Hoʻolauleʻa at the showroom after we open.”
Alix scans her mind for a definition, but comes up empty. “What’s a Hoʻolauleʻa?”
Ripley breathes out an abashed laugh, running a hand over the back of his neck. “Yeah, I don’t fucking know. Should probably have looked it up before I told Raj it was cool. But he was so excited, what was I supposed to do?”
Alix laughs again, instinctively curling in towards Ripley. He folds an arm around her shoulders and draws her closer to him, lets her snuggle her head into the curve of his neck for a moment as they go down the sidewalk.
The sun is going down behind the purple clouds, behind the buildings of Ketterbridge with their glowing windows. The trees lift their long, flowering branches to the stars, which are spreading slowly across the darkening sky, nestled into little groupings. Below them, the wildflower project that Gabby implemented is showing results. The dividers in the street only had grass before, but now tiny flowers have run riot all over them, thronging them from edge to edge.
It’s a beautiful twilight, and a few people are sitting out on their porches, in chairs or on softly-creaking swings. Some of them are chatting, but there’s an increase in the general noise when Alix and Ripley reach the end of the street.
“Whoa,” Ripley says, coming to a startled stop.
There’s a little public park here, usually dark and empty by dusk. But tonight there’s an evening farmer’s market happening, illuminated by the soft glow of string lanterns. It’s less than half the size of the usual farmer’s market, and with more prepared food than groceries, but people have shown up for it. The stands are busy, bustling, sending up curls of steam into the blue-tinged air. Kids run and weave through the vendors, giggling and chasing each other. A little way back from the stands, a woman is gently strumming a guitar and singing into a microphone. Some people have sat down on the grass to watch her as they eat the food they bought.
“This must be new,” Ripley murmurs, his eyes roving slowly over the stands. “Since when does Ketterbridge have a night market?”
“Technically we don’t, not yet,” Alix answers distractedly, busy inspecting the scene. “Maybe, though. If tonight goes well. This is the test event.”
“Oh, yeah?” Ripley throws her a bright glance before he looks back at the market. “Well, it turned out so fucking good, I have to think-”
He cuts himself off sharply, his eyes blinking very fast over to Alix.
“Hang on a sec - this was you, wasn’t it?” He lets out a disbelieving laugh, turning back to the night market with wide eyes. “Of course this was you. Should’ve seen your paw prints all over this.”
“Okay, it wasn’t me,” Alix protests, blushing a little. “I just helped out on the planning committee, that’s all! And did a bit of the promotion.”
“Holy shit.” Ripley fixes her with a broad grin, then sets off across the street towards the park. “You’re amazing, you know that?”
“What are you doing?” Alix calls, rushing after him.
He turns and walks backwards to answer her, gesturing to the vendors with his skateboard. “I know I’m a broke-ass artist, but I can at least afford to buy my girlfriend something to eat at the dope night market she helped plan, alright?”
Alix lets out a burst of surprised giggles, picking up her pace to catch his outstretched hand. Apparently this amount of speed is concerning to Ripley, who catches her with one arm around her waist and lifts her up onto the curb before she can attempt it herself.
He beams down at her as they join the bustling market, his green eyes brimming with pride. “Look at this!”
“I’m not sure it will become a recurring thing, though,” Alix admits, as Ripley catches her hand and pulls her through the crowd. “We’ve already had one grouchy man who lives nearby tell us he’ll file noise complaints about it.”
“Oh, did he?” Ripley asks, devious fire climbing into his eyes. “Did he really?”
“Whatever you’re planning, don’t,” Alix laughs, swatting his arm.
Ripley flashes her a warm smile, then turns and leads the way to a vendor stand selling drinks.
The two of them break away from the crowd a few minutes later, holding cold lemonades and warm peach pastries. They find an unoccupied wooden bench at the far end of the park from the market, and sit down under the shelter of an old tree, its boughs heavy with open pink blossoms.
The market spreads out before Ripley and Alix, lit softly with the glow of the hanging lanterns. Gentle music and chatter and laughter drifts out of the park, up towards the twinkling stars.
Alix glances at Ripley with furtive eyes.
He’s leaning back against the bench, one foot absently rolling his skateboard in slow back-and-forth movements. The glow of the night market catches on his thick tumble of green curls, on the unusual, handsome planes of his profile. Liquid golden light pools in his eyes, all the more beautiful for being reflected back through them.
Alix stares at him, trembling inside, trying not to let it show on the surface. Wishing desperately that she could read his mind.
She’s painfully aware that however things go tonight, she’ll forever remember this moment. She’ll always remember how Ripley looked, how the night market sounded, how the stars were sprinkled overhead in the multicolored twilight sky.
She quickly turns away when Ripley’s eyes flit to her.
“Is everything okay?” comes his soft voice, after a moment.
She can hear the uncertainty in his tone, which has grown more serious. But she doesn’t answer right away. She’s frozen up, too nervous to even speak.
“Is it - should I have invited you over tonight?” Ripley anxiously leans forward to try and catch her eye. “Because I didn’t even invite the boys over, they just showed up. Seriously, one by one. Was like a clown car unloading directly into the showroom.”
“I’m sure it was,” Alix laughs, pressing a hand over her eyes.
But there’s a sharp, wild catch beneath her laughter, and Ripley doesn’t miss it. He pauses, then curls his knuckles beneath her chin and tilts her face up to his.
“Hey,” he says gently, pleadingly. “Do you think you could be serious for a second, beautiful?”
Alix stops and bites her lip, gazing helplessly up into his striking green eyes.
“You don’t make it easy,” she hears herself answer. “I feel like I’ve always got a laugh waiting to get out, when I’m around you. Always.”
Ripley blinks hard, breaking into a small, warm smile.
“Okay, then what’s…?” he begins softly, then trails off in obvious concern, gazing searchingly down into her eyes.
Alix closes them, inwardly summoning all of her courage. It normally helps to have Ripley right there, because his strong, steady presence is so warm and sustaining - but right now his closeness only adds to her nerves. Which are already running wild, out of control.
If Ripley had given Alix one hint about his feelings on this, everything would be so much easier. But he hasn’t, and now she has to make herself so vulnerable. It’s terrifying. She’s terrified.
But she’s already made up her mind. She’s willing to risk it.
She takes a deep breath of warm, fragrant summer air, then opens her eyes and meets Ripley’s.
All traces of laughter are gone from his eyes. His blonde eyebrows are drawn up and together, his jaw tensed. His foot has gone still on his skateboard.
Alix’s eyes drop to it, and the memory of Ripley holding it as he looked down at her in his prince costume flashes through her mind. Her heart overflows with pure, molten, melting adoration at the memory.
She holds onto that sensation, uses it for strength, and makes herself meet Ripley’s eyes again.
“I - I have something important I need to talk to you about.” The faintest hint of a tremble reveals itself in her voice, but she pushes through it. “Can you just promise you’ll hear me out?”
Ripley has stiffened up beside her. His green eyes are impossible to read, but the color has drained out of his face. He sits back slightly, letting go of Alix’s hand.
There’s a frozen silence, and then Ripley suddenly drops his head, sending his green curls tumbling into his eyes.
“Okay,” he says, in a soft, heartbroken voice, his breath hitching over his words. “Think - think I know where this is going.”
Alix draws back in confusion, but before she can react beyond that Ripley lifts his head, and she catches the crestfallen, heartbroken expression on his face. He looks crushed.
“No, but it’s - it’s not even the end of summer,” he rasps hoarsely, like he doesn’t understand. He folds his fingers around hers, looking at her with agonized, imploring eyes. “We still have all summer - you don’t even have to go yet - can’t we-? Please don’t - what can I-? Just tell me what to-”
Alix can barely make out his broken words, much less understand them, but hearing his voice like this is unbearable.
“Rip, listen to me!” she cuts in desperately. “I don’t even know what you’re talking about, but there’s something I need to say to you, and I’m never going to forgive myself if I don’t, so - please just let me say it?”
Ripley stops still, his green eyes full of confusion.
“Okay…” he murmurs slowly, tentatively, his low voice still shaky. “I’m listening.”
Alix takes another deep breath, calming her frantic heartbeat as best she can.
“I’m gonna say a bunch of nice things about your art, now,” she informs Ripley. “I hope I’m not giving you some giant artist ego, doing that.”
Ripley blinks hard at her, taken aback. A tiny, surprised smile comes back into his eyes as he shakes his head no. “You’re actually helping me up from the bottom of a huge, steep fucking mountain on that one. You have no idea.”
His words are the next piece of strength Alix holds onto to pull herself up her own mountain.
“You’re not gonna tell me that’s what you wanted to talk about, though?” Ripley adds, increasingly lost.
“Sort of, actually, yeah.”
Alix stops, anxiously twisting her pink streak of hair around her finger. She knows she’s confusing him, but she’s struggling so hard for the right words. She makes herself look into his eyes, and -
All the words come out at once.
“It’s just - you pick a path and you follow it, right?” she asks Ripley, her breathless voice going at top speed. “You follow it for so long that it gets hard to see anything else. You keep your head down, you pour all your focus into staying on the path, and then one day you look up and realize… there are so many other paths. So many fucking paths to choose from, and it’s like - am I sure I’m on the right one? Why was I so sure that this is the best one? Is it just because other people told me this is the best one? Is it taking me to where I really, honestly want to go? Because if not - even if I don’t know where the other paths lead, shouldn’t I at least-? Who knows what you might miss, if you don’t at least…?”
Alix trails off, mortified. Ripley is staring at her with very wide eyes, his blonde eyebrows arched.
“Wow,” he says, sounding genuinely impressed. “That was fast, and all in one breath. You could give Jamie a run for his money.”
Alix folds her elbows on her knees and drops her head into her arms. Ripley lets out a soft, shaky laugh, then bends down and leans his temple against hers.
“Hey,” he murmurs affectionately, spreading his hand on the small of her back. “What is this really about? What’s got you thinking about all this stuff?”
Alix sits up slowly, gazing at Ripley in the soft blue evening. His eyes are so warm and open, so soothing. Her breath finally comes back to her, lets her speak at a reasonable speed.
“Do you remember the night we did the billboard, when I told you why I chose the press department at City Hall?”
“You said that you want to get the word out about important things,” Ripley answers instantly.
“I meant that. That’s what I want the most from my career.” Alix hesitates, blushing deeply, but determined to keep going. “Rip, when I think about you, and your career… I can’t shake the feeling that I’m seeing the beginnings of something important. Something that could be - huge.”
Ripley draws back, blinking hard, then breaks into a crooked, goofy smile.
“Alright, I’m not gonna lie, this is warming my pride a little,” he admits, around an insuppressible, contagious laugh. “Needed that.”
Alix giggles, then takes his paint-stained fingers in her own, gazing deep into his eyes.
“But I’m serious, Rip. It could really go places, but you need someone to help you get the word out. Someone who honestly believes in you, and understands what you’re doing, what you’re saying.”
Ripley kind of starts to laugh again, then stops, staring at Alix in confusion, his head cocked slightly to the side.
Alix figures she’s all the way in now.
“I love your work,” she says earnestly, stroking her thumb over his paint-stained fingertips. “I love that you can make your art land like a meteorite, or make it land softer than a flower. It’s thoughtful, it’s alive, it has layers to unfold, it’s - freeing. And I’m not only saying this about your works on canvas.”
Alix lets go of Ripley’s hands to point at the building across the street from the park. There’s a graffitied tag near the front right corner, done in bright blue spray paint. Ripley follows her eyes to it.
“See that? I never would have noticed that before you.” Alix gives her shoulders a helpless shrug as she turns back to Ripley. “Now I notice the graffiti everywhere I go. The guy who did that tag, he’s done a few by our school, one on a road sign near the flower shop, one behind the movie theater. Sometimes his tags get crossed out and replaced with new ones. Sometimes they get painted over, and he does them again. Sometimes they get painted over, and someone else takes his place.”
Alix pauses to take a breath, and to find the right words.
“It’s like the walls of every street tell me a story, now,” she murmurs slowly. “Like the town is - breathing. It’s to the point I can barely stand a blank wall.”
Ripley is staring at Alix with a complicated expression in his green eyes, listening intently to every word she says. His fingers have stopped mid-movement, frozen in the act of anxiously twisting the stud in his ear.
“You street artists set a good example, in my book.” Alix lets out a shaky, nervous laugh. “Insisting on playing a part in shaping your own world, your own surroundings. Showing people you can make your way to places where no one thinks you should be allowed. Proving that you can still go outside the law, even now, with security cameras and cops on every corner. That blind obedience is not a good thing. That sometimes big risks are worth it, when you have something important to say. And you, Ripley, you have…”
Alix trails off, remembering him taking her around the new building, the warm, excited light glowing in his eyes.
How will Transgressive ever expand beyond Ketterbridge, though? Alix had asked. If you stay here?
Ripley shot her his familiar, devious smile. I’ve got a grand plan. It’s probably not gonna work out, but a guy can dream, right?
What’s the plan?
He didn’t want to say, but she got it out of him with a little persuasion.
I’m hoping I can set up a small, underground network of trans street artists. All operating under Transgressive, but in different small towns. We’d strike in tandem, just in our own styles.
The Transgressive Collective, Alix answered, drawing a soft laugh from Ripley.
Sure, something like that.
“I have faith in you,” Alix tells him earnestly, honestly, holding tight to his hands. “I believe in your dream. I want to see it happen, and… I think it goes hand in hand with my dream. Because I want the world to know about you, Rip. What you’re doing is important, important enough that I - I want to stay for it. I want to see it happen. I want to help, to be a part of it. And it’s - it’s not only about that…”
Alix trails off, her voice trembling. Her terrified heart is beating too fast for her to get a breath. She wants to say what she’s been dying to say, but she finds herself desperately talking about other things instead.
“This way I don’t have to give up what I’m doing at City Hall, either. I don’t have to give up doing stuff like this.” She gestures to the night market, but Ripley’s eyes go on gazing unwaveringly into hers. “Gabby already offered to keep me on for another year, in a paid position. This would give me more time to think about what I want to do about college, which - honestly, I think I really need. I want to defer my acceptances. There’s so much I haven’t given myself the freedom to try out, and you - you’ve made me want to try those things. I don’t want to dive right into another year of school - but most of all, I just…”
Oh, god. Just slow down. Breathe.
She’s blushing so hard she can feel the heat emanating from her cheeks, and she can’t meet his eyes, but she makes herself say it.
“I would miss you so bad, Rip,” she rasps softly, squeezing his fingers. “The thought of going away at the end of summer, not being with you, giving up what we have - when we have something that’s so… to me, anyways, this is so…”
Alix trails off, then falls silent, hearing the precarious wavering of her own voice.
Ripley has been listening in total silence. His green eyes have gotten bigger and rounder the longer that Alix has gone on, and now he’s staring at her in open astonishment, his lips slightly parted, his body motionless.
Alix can’t tell what he’s thinking, not at all. She gives him time to say something, but he doesn’t. He just sits there like that, staring at her.
Alix takes a few fast, shallow breaths, trying to hold it together.
“Okay,” she stammers, opening up her bag and pulling out a slim folder. “Now that I’m done just laying all my secret feelings right out in the open, I can give you this. I assume that the Transgressive Collective won’t be hiring in any official capacity, so I’m submitting my press and PR resume to the board showroom. You need me there, too, anyways. I’m happy to handle both.”
She hands Ripley her resume, then folds his limp, motionless hands around it. She desperately wishes he would say something, but he’s still just staring at her, his green eyes enormous.
Alix is on the verge of panic. Ripley has given her no sign about what he wanted for the end of this summer, when she was supposed to leave for college. She can’t believe she just poured her heart out like that with no idea of his feelings, but - she needed to try.
But she can’t bear Ripley’s unreadable silence any longer. Trembling like a leaf, she gets swiftly to her feet and shoulders her bag.
“I’m happy to do an interview, but please let me know as soon as you make a decision,” she manages, backing away. “Because I’ll need to find myself an apartment, and all that.”
“Wait, what-?” Ripley snaps out of it and surges to his feet. “Alix!”
He goes rushing after her, steps on his forgotten skateboard, and goes staggering forward, crashing right into Alix. She lets out a gasp of startled laughter as she catches him.
“For once you’re the clumsy one,” she giggles, unable to stop herself.
Ripley cuts her off with a deep, eager kiss, backing her up behind the tree. She lets out a startled laugh against his mouth, flinging her arms around his neck.
Unspeakable relief sweeps through her in one infinitely warm, caressing wave, sending her melting into Ripley’s arms. At the same time, passionate fire bursts to life in her chest, twirling around her heart in a wild dance. She takes real, deep breaths, and they taste like Ripley, the wood and brick and paint of his new place.
“Holy shit,” he laughs, beaming breathlessly down at her as he draws back. He presses his forehead against Alix’s, his green eyes lit up from within. “Put everything I want right in my fucking hands, why don’t you?”
Alix lets out a relieved laugh that’s nearly a sob. “Does that mean you’re on board for this?”
“Shit, I can’t see how you could make that offer any sweeter!” Ripley lets out another giddy, overjoyed laugh, stroking her cheek with his knuckles. “As long as you can promise me you’re sure. I don’t want you to look back and feel like you missed out on anything important because of me.”
It’s the opposite, Alix answers silently, smiling up into the beautiful green depths of his eyes. The exact opposite.
~~~~
There’s still some dust in the air of Ripley’s new little apartment. It catches in the buttery golden glow of the new lamps, swirling slowly and softly on the breeze.
Alix watches it through hazy eyes as Ripley sinks slow kisses up the side of her throat. Her pupils are blown out, a red-hot blush burning her cheeks. Her heartbeat is ringing through her like rhythmic strokes on a massive bell, vibrating her from head to foot. She’s holding two tight handfuls of his shirt, panting softly.
“I can’t fucking believe this,” Ripley whispers happily, his soft-spoken words melting against her throat. He props himself up on his elbows to look down at her, a huge grin lighting up his face. “You really want to stay? With me? Join the project, and-?”
Alix lets out a breathless laugh. “How many times are you gonna make me say it, dummy?”
“I don’t know!” He breathes out another dazed laugh, gently thumbing her chin. “I never thought you - I was just trying my fuckin’ hardest to brace myself for the end of summer, and convince myself not to start begging when you - nevermind.”
Alix lets out a burst of little giggles, sliding her hands up his back, overwhelmed with relief. “Did that work?”
“No, I - I probably would have begged,” Ripley says, wincing deeply at her. “So, um. Thanks for sparing me from that.”
Alix’s laughter bounces off the ceiling and seems to fill the entirety of the tiny apartment.
Ripley smiles so hard that it closes his eyes. Then he leans down and kisses her softly, deeply, many times.
Panting hard, Alix lets her head fall to the side when he puts his mouth back to her neck, and catches her reflection in the window.
Her hair and makeup are all messed up, her clothes a rumpled mess. She must have leaned on something downstairs that she shouldn’t have, because there’s a spot of green paint on her upper arm. But a rich, blissful smile is turning up her lips, one that glows out of her eyes and illuminates her whole face. Her reflection is transparent enough that the stars glitter right through it. They’re not quite as bright as the look in her eyes.
Alix closes them, tightening her arms around Ripley. She’s on a bare mattress in the mess of a tiny, half-finished apartment. But it doesn’t matter. The stars are singing to her. She knows in her heart that this is right where she’s supposed to be.
This is where the magic happens.
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