The Words to Define These Feelings

Paige's POV

I settled back into the couch, putting my audio recorder on the couch next to me and kicking my shoes off as I curled up. Phoebe and I were flying back to Ohio tomorrow, our initial two weeks traveling with the guys done. Both of us were reluctant to return to reality; even though it was technically work, touring with FTSK felt more like a traveling party than a job. When we got back to the AP offices, however, I would be faced with the task of beginning to construct my article, and Phoebe would need to begin rooting through the thousand pictures she'd taken to find the ones worthy of being used professionally. We certainly had our work cut out for us.

Jonathan poked his head into the back lounge, springing into the room when he saw me sitting there.

“I heard you are looking for interviews,” He said, laying out on the couch opposite me.

“You hear correct,” I said, “And you also make it look as though I am your psychiatrist by laying down on the couch.”

“Yeah, yeah, just hit me with your best questions. Come on, bring it,” He smiled, and I delved into the first question from the list next to me, accepting his challenge.

A half an hour later, when I had run out of questions, Jonathan stood up and stretched from side to side.

“Phew, that was tiring!” He exaggerated.

“Sorry?” I smiled innocently as he turned to leave, “Can you get Caleb for me?”

“I think I could do that,” He said, stopping to look back at me, “What's up with you two, anyways?”

“What do you mean?” I asked, perplexed.

“Well, you hated each other, but now...” He trailed off, “I don't know, you're not exactly nice to each other, not really mean...”

“Yeah,” I admitted, “We're not friends. But I guess we're not not friends, either? I have no clue, to be quite honest. I don't even know how to act around him, or what to think.”

“Sounds awkward and confusing,” Jonathan said sympathetically, and all I could do was nod as he left.

I sat around for a good ten minutes while I waited for Caleb to arrive, sinking back into the comfy couch as I watched the minutes pass. I could feel my body begin to submit to the idea of sleep when a loud rap shook me. I bolted upright to see Caleb standing awkwardly in the doorway, hand poised next to the wall he had just knocked on.

“Are you sleeping?” He asked quietly. I brushed my bangs out of my eyes and shook my head.

“No, not at all. Come in,” I motioned to the couch opposite mine. Caleb glanced to where I was pointing, then sat down next to me, leaving a good two feet between myself and him.

“Alright, um, so I'm going to be audio recording this...” I tried to figure out why he was sitting next to me as I spoke, “And everything you say is pretty much fair game for the article unless you tell me otherwise,” When I looked back at him for confirmation that he understood what I had just said, his gaze was fixed on the ceiling in the corner of the room, “Caleb?”

“Yeah, got it,” He turned his head, but not enough to look at me. This interview was already crashing and burning, and it hadn't begun yet.

“So, first question, what inspired you to start playing music?” I asked, trying to surround myself with a professional air in hopes that it would rub off on him.

“It always intrigued me,” He said flatly, looking at a point on the wall.

“Okay, so what about it intrigued you?” I tried my best to pull a longer answer out of him.

“I don't know, I just liked it,” He shrugged, and I squeezed my eyes shut. Every question I fired at him came back with the least detailed, shortest answer possible. Twenty questions into the interview left me with little more than a few sentences that would be useful. I bit my lip and took a few deep breaths as I turned to look at the boy next to me. I flipped my audio recorder off and just looked at him, waiting for him to realize something was off. He finally gave me a slow side-glance after a few minutes of silence, then turned his head back to stare at the ceiling.

“Caleb,” I said softly, “Caleb, I need this interview. It's my job. I don't know what to do here,” I paused as my voice became shaky, “I'm sorry I broke your guitar. I'm sorry I had to come and invade your tour. I'm sorry you don't like me. But please, can you just pretend I am someone else for the next twenty minutes and give me some honest answers?”

I felt my throat begin to close up, so I stood up for a minute, forcing myself to take deep breaths. I was far too worked up. When I looked down I was shocked to see him staring up at me, golden eyes glowing.

“I'm sorry. I'll answer your questions,” was all said. I nodded and sat myself back down on the couch.

“I just, I don't know why you're acting so weird all of a sudden. I mean, I thought that since Halloween we might have made an improvement, that you were starting to act nicer to me,” I said quietly, but when he had no response, I flicked my recorder back on and delved back into my questions. The interview ran much smoother than before, Caleb elaborating on my questions and providing me with plenty of good quotes. When we were done, I closed my notebook and put my recorder away, ready to retreat to my bunk. I was a wild mess of emotions at the moment, so I had no intent of talking to anyone.

“Wait, Paige” Caleb said, and I turned, shocked that he wanted to talk to me. Suddenly he was standing in front of me and I had to take a step back from the intensity in his eyes.

“Yes?” I asked weakly, and he sighed.

“I am an idiot,” He said under his breath, then paused, “You want to know why I've been acting so weird?”

I took a deep breath, then nodded. It would be nice to know.

He hesitated, then said, “Alright, just do me a favor and close your eyes for a minute.”

I looked at him suspiciously, then closed my eyes. I heard him take a step closer, then suddenly his lips pressed against mine in an urgent plea and I felt myself give in to the kiss before I even had time to process what was happening. I kept my eyes shut as we kissed passionately, all the tension between us fading as his arms wrapped around me.

Then, suddenly, he was pulling away and I heard him whisper, “I'm sorry I'm such an idiot.”

By the time I opened my eyes, I could see a blur of red hair disappearing down the stairs and the door of the bus falling closed behind him.