Page 99 of Ignition

Yeah, it’s not the movie.

The words were on the tip of my tongue, but I swallowed them down, pride locking my jaw.

“If you don’t like this,” he said, reaching out to clasp my hand and giving it a little squeeze, “just say the word.

“I’ll take you back to campus, no questions asked.”

The way he met my eye and the earnest, raw note in his voice told me he meant it and I… didn’t know what to do with that.

I worried my bottom lip, nodding absentmindedly. Then, his other hand grazed my cheek, and the bumps spread to the other side of my neck—down my spine, down to my toes.

“How can I help you relax more?”

I opened my mouth to snap something snarky, but no words came out. I had no defence against this new side of him.

“Stop staring at me,” I blurted out, skin igniting at once at the slow smirk tugging at his mouth.

He totally knows. Prick.

“All right, all right.”

His fingers whispered off me, his palms lifted in a dampening gesture, before he turned away and faced the screen.

The air crackled with anticipation as the lights dimmed, and we settled into companionable silence.

The first bite of popcorn and the guilty pleasure of watching the ads were always special. I expected him to mock me, to scoff, but he was apparently as delighted as I was and I… didn’t know what to do with that, either.

Everything I thought I knew about him had flipped on its head, leaving me unmoored.

Then, movement in the corner of my eye snatched my gaze away from the screen. As if in slow motion, his full lips curled around the straw, before he took a sip of his drink, and my mind blue-screened.

It should not have hit the way it did, but it reminded me—

My throat worked as I desperately grabbed my own drink.

Oh, god, oh god… stop, brain!

“Anything else?”

His question jolted me, a welcome reprieve, but instead of words, my fingers reached out and slotted between his.

His hand in mine was starting to feel awfully right, and out of the corner of my eye, I thought I saw him smile.

My heart gave a few hard little thumps against my ribs before settling. My legs stretched out in front of me, and my shoulders relaxed as near darkness swallowed us, signalling the start of the movie and hiding my furious blush.

The camera panned to a figure walking aimlessly on a rainy night, the angle tilting sideways as it zoomed in, making my stomach twist. The soundtrack—a moody, low thrum in my ears—added tension to the daunting atmosphere.

My fingers tightened around his, seeking comfort.

“You okay?” His voice was soft, but the hint of amused teasing underneath had my teeth grinding.

“Great.”

I huffed and dropped his hand at once, angling my body away from him. The bravado was entirely put on, and soon, I regretted my outburst as the movie crept on, and my hairs stood on end.

The figure, it turned out, was the dead little girl’s father, who still searched for her, even after death. The music swelled to a tremble, and his fingers shook on screen as he gripped a special camera that could photograph ghosts, and carried on taking photos of familiar places, trying to catch glimpses of her: a pale hand curled around a tree, a pair of glassy eyes staring back as inky black hair swirled in the murky depths of an abandoned fountain.

My pulse stuttered and skipped with every crescendo of the music, the absence of jump scares so far stretching my nerves taut. And without his warmth cradling my hand and the glimpse of him in my periphery, I might as well have been alone.