Black Diaries

25. Stargazing

"Who's there?" I demanded.

The shadowy figure at the railing lifted its shoulders. "Me," said a low, melodious voice out of the dark. Even just saying one word, he sounded like poetry.

I blinked. "Me? What's that supposed to mean?"

"That it isn't anybody else, of course."

Wow. What a talkative guy. "What are you doing out here?"

Leaning casually against the railing, he gave another shrug. "What are you doing here?"

"I asked first!"

"Then you should answer first, too."

I stared into the darkness. What kind of logic was that?

"I... I came out here to be alone."

Crap! How did that slip out?

He sounded too damn compelling, that was how.

"Really?" There was a note of amusement in his musical voice. "What a coincidence. So did I."

There was a pause.

"Well..." I hesitated. "Maybe we both should go find another balcony, then."

"Oh, I don't know..." Turning towards the starry sky, he looked out over the twinkling lights of the city. "I wouldn't mind being alone together."

The sentence was absolutely contradictory and absurd. But spoken here in the dark, by that musical voice of his, it somehow managed to make sense. Without saying a word, I stepped forward and leaned on the railing beside him. It was too dark to really see what he looked like, but it didn't matter. He might be hot, or he might be fat and ugly. All that mattered right now was that he was quiet and soothing. A few minutes of peaceful stargazing followed.

"The stars are beautiful, aren't they?" I sighed, gazing up at the sparkling lights, far, far above. They were one of the few things I could look at without being reminded of Chuck.

"And here I was thinking I was the only one who noticed." There was amusement in his quiet, musical voice. "Most people seem to be far too busy to look at the stars these days. And they're one of the few things left worth looking at."

Even when he spoke, there was an unearthly beauty about his speech that made it seem as if he had not really spoken – like echoing thoughts, or the wind whispering gently in the trees.

"I spent over a year being busy," I told him. "Turns out I was too busy to notice what was going on right underneath my nose. Maybe, if I'd looked at the stars a little more and taken some time to think, I wouldn't be so unhappy now."

"I was at peace, and drank your beams," he murmured, "As they were life to me; And reveled in my changeful dreams, Like petrel on the sea."

"Was... was that poetry?"

"Emily Brontë."

"It's beautiful," I murmured, feeling moisture pricking my eyes. "But... sad somehow."

He glanced in my direction, and for a moment I thought I saw the hint of a smile flash in the darkness. Reaching out, he briefly touched my hands, resting on the railing. "Most beautiful things are."

We lapsed into companionable silence again. It was funny... I had known this guy for exactly five minutes—actually, I still didn't know him, after all, he still hadn't told me his name—but I already felt more comfortable being alone together with him out here on this dark balcony than with all those care-free, polished, perfect people inside the club.