Axiom Ch. 04

He laughed out loud. "The things you do for me...you're far too kind." She giggled in return and looped an arm through his, and they walked arm in arm towards the gallery.

The interior of the building was dimly lit, with a multitude of scattered candles being the only source of light. The flames from the candles bathed the roomy interior in a shadowy, mystic aura, making the entire place feel like a long-lost chapel. Other people were just dark silhouettes, faceless figures that shuffled about in the flickering light amidst whispers.

The first piece they encountered was a piece of canvas with names scrawled all over it in paint. Instructions were engraved into a silver plate beside a collection of paint pots and brushes, asking for participants to write their name in the color they associated most with, because names and favorite colors were the most distinct and visible identifying trait of one's persona.

The explanation made sense to Gwyneth, and she quietly painted her own name in cerulean, while Aidan drew a simple A in black. Aidan took her hand as they moved from piece to piece, lingering at the ones they both found fascinating.

There was the one entitled Crypt, where three things lay in front of them - a large corkboard with numerous white paper butterflies tacked onto them, a bowl of some flammable substance of sort that was currently ablaze, and a stack of untouched white paper butterflies. Instructions were simple - to write a secret on the paper butterfly, and face three choices - keep it, burn it, or post it.

They both hovered uncertainly, each one too afraid to make the first move, until Gwyneth pulled away and reached for a piece. Picking up a pen, she only mused for a second and scribbled something onto the paper, then folded it in half so her writing wasn't visible, and also so it was shaped like a proper butterfly.

She bit her lip and paused for a while, not knowing what she really wanted to do with it. There was so much significance to it - she could either post it on the board anonymously, slide it into her pocket and bring it home, or burn it in a symbolic representation of catharsis.

Finally she decided to tack in onto the board, pinning it firmly into place with a small sigh. Aidan took his turn next, and it seemed like he, too, was going to post his butterfly on the board. But at the very last second he stopped, one hand frozen in place, making Gwyneth wonder how personal the secret might be.

The distant slivers of candlelight were flickering in his eyes, and she watched the ghostly blue irises which were currently fixed in stern concentration at the folded secret in his hand. Something clicked inside him as he made up his mind and threw the piece of paper into the bowl of fire, choosing instead to reduce his secret into ashes.

As he took her hand to lead her away, Gwyneth could've sworn she glimpsed a hint of sadness in his face, a vulnerable grief she had never before seen, but too quickly his face blended into the darkness and that side of him was visible no more.

The next exhibit, titled Image, was a large mirror with white markings all over it. Like the first piece, it invited participants to write on it with the white marker pen provided - but this time, they were to choose a word that they felt described them best. Gwyneth's throat tightened at the sight of the words others chose, as the majority of them were negative - words like insecure, reject, lonely and damaged.

Out of the plethora of descriptions, only a handful were truly positive, and as she searched for one person who identified themselves as happy, she found none. It was so depressing to her that not a single soul, no one at all chose the word happy to describe themselves. Saddened and deeply affected, she picked up the pen and wrote 'happy', the marker making squeaky sounds as she carefully inscribed the letters onto the shiny surface.

Gwyneth underlined the word twice and stood back to admire her work, nodding with satisfaction at her small contribution. When she turned back to face Aidan, he was just barely visible in the dim light, surveying her with his usual serious gaze, the faintest trace of a smile on his lips. She offered him the marker and he stepped forth, uncapping the pen and scribbling on a word without much thought. When he was done, she squinted at the foreign word, puzzled.

"Ensam?" her voice was a low whisper, not wanting to break the mood.

"It's Swedish for unique," he whispered back, his lips mere millimeters away from her ears.

"You speak Swedish?" Jesus, was there anything he didn't do?

"I saw it in Ikea," he murmured. "I think it was the name of a spaghetti strainer."

She couldn't repress a giggle, not caring if it irritated the people around her.

"Are you really happy?" his voice was low, his tone grave.

The laughter died out instantly. Gwyneth looked into his eyes, losing herself in his piercing gaze. In that very moment, he couldn't have looked more perfect, as the shadows from the dim light accentuated his features, his high cheekbones - God, he looked incredible. Aidan leaned over her, bending down so that his face was almost touching hers, one arm creeping around her waist.

"Are you really happy?" he asked again, softer still. She wanted to kiss him so badly now but she resisted, only nodding inertly while he kept his eyes on hers.

"Yeah, I am," she whispered. "I'm happy."

The answer seemed to appease him. "That's good to know." He tucked her hair behind her ear and kissed her lightly on her forehead. "Let's move on to the next one."

'Pulse'. The idea behind the eponymous exhibit was deceivingly simple, but astonishingly clever. Two stethoscopes, two people, one minute. It was the artist's belief that in one minute, listening to another's heartbeat will reveal more than a minute of conversation ever could. The concept of the exhibit had Gwyneth floored, even if she didn't believe in interactive art.

"Wow," she breathed. "This is incredible." Aidan merely nodded in response.

She picked up a stethoscope and tapped the bell in experiment. There were two chairs readied nearby, set to face each other, and she sank down in one of them. Aidan took his place in the opposite chair and slipped the earpiece into place, leaning forward to be closer to her.

Gwyneth moved first, sliding the bell over his chest until she found the right spot on his left chest. She could hear it, loud and strong, each heartbeat actually consisting of two sounds, one in a lower pitch, one higher. Lub-dub, lub-dub, lub-dub. Her own heart was beginning to race now as his hands smoothed over her chest, seeking the perfect spot to auscultate.

Aidan was gazing at her with intent as his hands moved between her breasts, finally stopping at an area just left to her breastbone, where the mound of her cleavage began. She was looking at him now, unable to tear her eyes away from this handsome man, the sound of his heartbeat thumping a deep bass in her ears.

The stethoscopes weren't long, so they had to lean in close to each other, almost touching but not quite, the only contact between them being through the medical instrument. This was madness, she thought, as she felt her heartbeat skittering out of control, her breaths becoming more shallow, and it was suddenly so hard to breathe.

It bothered her to know that her body was responded so readily to him - the mere closeness of his presence was enough to get her all worked up, and at that moment she felt like a nervous high-schooler talking to her secret crush. It didn't help that he was looking at her like that, in that special way that always made her shiver.

Intimacy. If that had been the artist's intention, the exhibit worked wonders between them. For the life of her, she could never explain why that moment of silence between them felt so precious. She couldn't really understand why she felt so exposed when all she did was look into his eyes and hear the lush, organic beat of his heart resounding in her ears.

He was so close, so very close, in every sense - the tension was almost unbearable for her and she yearned to touch him, craved for the tangible feel of his skin on hers. His face was literally inches away from hers and her eyes keep flicking towards his lips as she resisted, with every bone in her body, the urge to kiss him. Every part of her body was burning with a desire to taste him and to feel the sweet, firm warmth of his mouth on hers. All she wanted was for him to touch her - lips, hand, cheek - anywhere at all would've been fine, just a touch would do.

This is crazy, she thought - I must be going out of my mind. He wasn't even touching her properly - the only thing that bridged the minute space between them was the twin metal circles pressed onto each other's chests - but then again, the gap was positively electrifying. By not touching him, she craved for him all the more, longed for him with a kind of hunger she never knew before. It was as if -

"Your heart's beating really fast," he remarked in a susurrous rumble, his voice husky.

Gwyneth suddenly felt self-conscious, and averted her gaze, too embarrassed to face him. She couldn't look him in the eye, not now - she felt like she was losing control of her mind and body, as evidenced by her chaotic heartbeat - and the last thing she needed was to see the intensity of his eyes.

She licked her lips nervously. "Right," her voice came out strangled as the chose to look at the floor, forcing herself to take deep breaths to calm herself down. She was trying so hard to keep her head level and dial down the excitement, using every last bit of her higher consciousness to marshall some semblance of discipline and order in her brain. It wasn't working to well, though - she could still feel the lump in her throat and she was fairly certain that she was trembling with anticipation. Damn it.

That's when his other hand cupped her chin and slowly turned her face back to meet his gaze until there was nowhere to hide, no way her eyes could avoid his as he locked her in a piercing stare, sending chills up her spine. His eyes, God, the deep, mesmerizing blue of his eyes - she could get lost in his eyes forever, drown herself in the deep pools of his irises.

Silence. He didn't say a word and the only sound she could hear was that heartbeat - his heartbeat - and she knew that all resolve was going up in smoke as she let him scrutinize every inch of her face. It was almost as if he was looking for an answer, as if he was trying to decrypt a secret code that she beheld - but the truth is all she could think of in that moment was how badly she wanted to be kissed.

Slowly he leaned in closer, and closer, until he captured her lips in a firm, intoxicating kiss. His mouth was gentle and sweet, as it always was, and her head was reeling at the sensory overload. Her eyes fluttered shut and she sighed in delicious contentment as he fulfilled her unspoken desire, parting her lips with his tongue as one hand crept around her neck to crush her towards him.

There are some moments in life that are just imprinted into the deepest crevices of one's memory, and this was such an instant. To the end of days, Gwyneth would never forget how it was like - being kissed by Aidan Scodelario, one hand holding a stethoscope to his chest and the other buried in his hair, pulling him close.

To be locked in an embrace with her eyes closed, hearing the rhythm of his heartbeat echo in her ears, feeling his lips on hers - in that moment, the world disappeared. The only thing that existed, at that moment, was them both. It didn't matter what would happen, it didn't matter that they weren't in love, it didn't matter that they were fuckbuddies, because all that she cared was that they were kissing right here, right now, and that she didn't ever want it to end.