Tequila slid down my throat leaving a trail of heat that the lime didn't quite take away. The sound of the shot glass being placed on the wooden table was muted by the bass of a poor mash up of two Drake songs blaring through the speakers. Dressed in a tight black dress, I felt more ready for a funeral than celebrating my legality. I sat alone in a club that I had no interest being in. The two girls I called my friends were looking for guys on the dance floor, while I was doing what I usually did; playing Perks of Being a Wallflower... without the perks.

Yet, the alcohol stressing out my liver had me walking towards the crowd to find my friends before my brain could figure out how to stop it. My legs quivered and I glared down at the stilettos on my feet, trying to remember how they ended up there. Squeezing my way between the sloppy dancers and mediocre movers, I bumped into someone and my eyes widened in recognition.

Every Saturday morning, he sat at his usual table drinking black coffee while reading a book. Sometimes it was the same one. Then it would be a new novel the next week. I could only tell from the covers, as I was usually too far to read the titles. Eventually, he'd put the book back into his trapezoid-shaped bag, and pull out a camera.

Yes, the artsy type. I assumed he'd be the kind of person to own a fedora, but never wear it for fear that it would clash with the multicolored socks peeking out from beneath his hitched skinny jeans.

I mean, even his bag was vintage looking. It was brown, but the leather was worn to the point of frayed stitches and cream-colored corners. It was likely bought at a thrift shop.

Once his coffee was finished, he'd pull the camera straps over his honey colored hair and hang it around his neck. He would then flip through the pictures for a while before taking the cover off the lens, and head into the rush of Manhattan.

I wondered how the rush managed to move him here, because this didn't seem like his type of scene. I could picture him people watching in Central Park, not trying to dance or whatever these people were doing here. I suppose he was wondering why I was here too... that was if he recognized me.

Saturday mornings were like a date; only he didn't know it was happening. I was cleaning counters or taking orders, while he was brushing up on his Ondaatje. Although we'd spoken a couple of times, the chances of him knowing my face were probably slim.

"Hey, don't I know you?" he shouted over the music. His voice was like running my hands across velvet, or resting on a feather pillow. I furrowed my brows, and tried to remind my tongue how to form coherent words.

"Coffee shop. I work there," I forced out. It was almost a full sentence. I couldn't tell if I was feeling shy or if the tequila was hindering my ability to speak. It was probably the former, because I didn't usually talk to guys unless I was taking their orders.

"Saturday mornings."

So he did know the date was happening.

"Yes. Black coffee and a book." It was quiet, but the slight smile on his face told me that he heard it.

"I'm Ethan."

"Sarah."

I fidgeted with the bracelets on my wrist and looked around at the crowd surrounding me. My friends were nowhere to be seen, but I wasn't surprised. I glanced down at my bracelets once more.

"This isn't your scene is it?" Ethan asked.

"My friends dragged me here against my will," I yelled. "I'm here for the vodka! Oh, and tequila! You can't forget that bad boy." Thankfully, Ethan chuckled. The sound seemed to blend into the deep bass of the music.

"Come with me."

"Where are we going?" I asked. He motioned in towards a thick metal door and I followed as he moved from the crowded dance floor. My mother always said that no good could come from a guy, and I'd seen it, but why was I following him?

We entered a hallway; the only sounds were the muted rhythms of the club music through the white walls. My heels clicked against the concrete beneath me and echoed in the empty hallway. "Where are we going? I mean, I know I asked, and I get the sense that I can trust you, but then again who can you trust? But you're not going to kidnap me right?" The sentence left my mouth before I could stop it, but then I laughed.

"It's a surprise... and kidnapping isn't really my thing," Ethan said with a smirk.

"Oh, that's good. My friends wouldn't noti–" I cut myself off, surprised at how ready I was to tell him things.

We went through another door, into what looked like an apartment building or hotel lobby, and Ethan pressed the button of the elevator we'd stopped in front of.

"Do you like clubs?"

The elevator doors opened and Ethan and I stepped inside. "Not really. But I do like taking photos of the nightlife." He pressed the number nine on the wooden panel and the doors closed shortly after. Ethan then looked at me and smiled. The elevator doors opened, and we walked down a corridor.

"That makes sense," I noted waving at the camera around his neck. He was wearing a dress shirt and dark wash jeans. The only proof that he hadn't abandoned the hipster look was his colorful socks peeking out from underneath the hem of his pants.

We stopped at the foot of stairs that looked like they winded up a floor or two, so I took off my heels.  "These things are like daggers. Just dagging – I mean digging! Digging away! They dig away at your heels! I mean who even invented these things?"

"A man who wanted women's legs to look nicer," Ethan smirked over his shoulder. I pouted slightly, and my bare feet slapped against the concrete stairs.

"I should go back in time and fight him."

When we got up the stairs a door was cracked open, a vacant rooftop waiting behind it. Tiny lights along the protective barriers illuminated the flat, empty space. I stepped out hesitantly but my eyes scanned the area, trying to take in every inch of my surroundings. It was cool with a slight breeze. The streetlights below sent an orange glow up to the sky that faded behind the towering skyscrapers and buildings surrounding us.

"I'll be back," Ethan said, leaving me to look out at the incredible view.

"Okey-dokey!" As soon as it had come out of my mouth, I pressed a hand to my lips, wondering where my sobriety had gone. I placed my stilettos down by my feet and looked down at the busy streets of a city that seemed to be moving twenty-four hours a day. Watching the cars whiz by one another, the city lights, the groups of people moving trains on tracks, I wondered if a bird felt the same exhilaration every day. I leaned over the barrier slightly, letting the wind ruffle my hair. It must be nice to be a bird, to just pick up and fly away when life becomes lackluster. I could fly too, if I just jumped...

"Sarah?"

The harsh reality of the concrete sidewalk came to mind. Humans were pathetic – tethered to the constraints of gravity, moved by two legs. Stuck in the same unending–

"Sarah, what are you doing?" I felt Ethan's hands on my shoulders, pulling me away from the ledge of the rooftop. I looked up at him.

"I was just thinking... about the view." I swallowed hard and let my eyes find the floor. "Um, did you want to sit? My legs are tired."

            Ethan nodded and we sat down next to a bottle of water and a two glasses that hadn't been there before, our backs resting against the brick wall. I rested my head against the wall and sighed.

"You look different," Ethan told me. I turned my head to face him as he poured the water in the glasses. He handed one to me and began to drink from the other as he turned on his camera. "Not better or worse, but different. You usually don't have so much makeup on. That's why I didn't recognize you right away," Ethan said, as he flipped through his camera. I allowed myself a moment to analyze the curvature of his nose, the way his long eyelashes seemed to kiss his eyebrows every so often, the slight smile toying with his lips.

"My friends made me dress up for my birthday; they wanted me to be a little slutty for a change," I told him.

"I didn't see them tonight."

"They were finding guys to go home with. " They usually treated me like I was a box of crackers in the pantry; they didn't pay much attention to me but it was nice to know I was there.

"They sound lovely."

I laughed, but found myself saying, "They aren't so bad." Ethan looked up from his camera and raised an eyebrow, making heat flood to my cheeks. I knew my friends weren't great, but I didn't have anyone else in this city.

"So, did you come with your friends?" I asked brushing off the thought.

"Nope. They hate clubs too," Ethan replied. He ran a hand through his hair and rested his head against the wall. We were quiet for a little while, our soundscape being the cars passing down below us, and the faint clicking of the buttons on Ethan's camera. I glanced at the beautiful pictures he had taken. I didn't know much about photography, but I could see that there were landscapes, people, objects, all with different focuses, all breathtaking – even in the simplest of shots.

"Why do you like taking pictures of the nightlife?" I asked suddenly, my voice startling me in the stillness of the night.

"People are different. Gertrude Stein wrote, 'in the morning there is meaning, in the evening there is feeling,' and it's true. People follow their guts even if it's right or wrong, but the night is filled with passion, people's demons come out to play. In the morning, everyone wakes up wondering what the hell happened the night before. If the feelings are still there, then the meaning is there."

I remained silent. The mind behind the lens was more beautiful than the photographs he took.

"Plus, the people at a club are so dumb they pose for anyone with a camera and expect it to appear on the club's website," Ethan added. A burst of giggles slipped from my mouth. Was I really laughing on a rooftop with a stranger on my birthday?

Why was it this easy? Talking to someone shouldn't be this easy... it never was. Especially not with Molly and Leah. With them it was like playing catch up in a cross-country run. They were always one step ahead of me with jokes, clothes, and guys. They were constantly filling me in, and reminding me how to dress, or telling me who to talk to. It was exhausting trying to keep up. But Ethan felt like a nice water break amidst the run.

Ethan held up his camera to me, pulling me out of my thoughts. On the screen was a picture of me leaning over the blockade.

"I look sad," I mumbled.

"Are you?" Ethan asked. "You said you were thinking about the view, but I think I captured something else." I swallowed hard and looked away from him.

His dark eyes met mine and it was like a truth serum coaxing me to say what was on my mind. "Maybe it was..." I let out a nervous breath and chuckled. "We're skipping the 'what's your favourite colour?' bit and going right for the 'what's in the crevasses of your soul?' huh?"

Ethan cracked a smile, the right corner of his mouth curving up slightly higher than the other. "I guess we are."

"Oh, so I should just ask for your life story?" I teased, biting back a smile. He laughed, and I felt the deep rumble of it again, but this time accompanied by the heartiness of it. It reminded me of a deep church bell.

"Wow, my life story? Let's see... Twenty-three years ago, it was a crisp fall day. On September 14th, a bouncing baby boy was born in Pennsylvania..." He gave me a sly look to which I stuck my tongue out. He grinned and continued his story. "I had a pretty good childhood – the typical running with friends around the neighborhood until the streetlights came on... but when I turned sixteen my best friend died. He was like a brother, and it was a pretty rough time. Shortly after that, my parents gave me my first camera and they told me to capture everything I thought was beautiful. To focus on the beauty of life rather than the heartache... I ended up coming to the New York Film Academy for their photography program."

"Okay, Mr. Photographer, make me look like a model!" I said posing.

"You already do," Ethan said. My face felt hot, and I knew I was blushing, so I changed the subject.

"So now, what's in your soul?"

"The pain is still there. Pain is always there – friends come and go, people die, the world goes through disaster, and I feel it deeply. But I've made a choice to let the light in."

"Wow." My voice sounded strangled, like someone had lodged a dozen marshmallows in my throat. Ethan reached out and touched under my eye, a slight crease between his brows. I realized a couple tears managed to make their way down my face and my cheeks heated with this revelation. After clearing my throat I said, "I swear it's the tequila! I promise I'm not a loser."

Ethan laughed again. The sound, combined with the way my skin seemed to remember the prints of his fingers made me feel warm inside. The thought made my eyes widen and the hairs on my body stand up straight. I stood up suddenly, glass in my hand, and walked over to the other side of the roof. I wasn't sure I liked that warm feeling. It wasn't foreign; it felt like the blissful memories with people before they hurt or left me behind. Like getting ready to go out, before my friends forgot me on the dance floor.

"What about you?" Ethan called. "What's your life story?"

I wrinkled my nose and turned around to face him. "Well, I was born on June 8th, twenty-one years ago today... in Vermont. After watching The Gilmore Girls, I decided I wanted to be a journalist like Rory. I was offered a scholarship from Columbia so I decided to enroll there." Ethan's eyes followed me as I shifted my weight from one leg to the other. I turned around to look down at the busy street, avoiding his intense gaze. "The money really helped out my grandparents and mom. Plus, they have my little sister to worry about too. She's thirteen, but she's still the baby of the family and they treat her like one. She's spoiled rotten." I gripped the glass of water tightly, as I leaned against the wall that was separating me from a misstep, and kept speaking, though I wanted to stop. "I guess they're scared that, because our dad left when she was born, it will mess her up. But, she didn't know him. I was eight when she was born." Words left my mouth, like trains leaving a station with no intention of coming back. I rested a hand against the concrete barrier beside me and I stared over it, thinking about birds once again. "He was always coming and going; making promises and breaking them... forgetting things. Forgetting me. My family thinks I'm fine – I'm independent, at an Ivy League school, working, going out with friends. My friends, Molly and Leah, think so, too. So, if everyone thinks it, I must be fine, ri– ow!"

Glass shards clattered to the concrete and I looked down at my hand. Dark liquid began to rise to the surface.

"Holy shit," A wide-eyed Ethan muttered. Was he shocked I broke a glass with my hand or that I was bleeding? Laughter bubbled up in my throat, though tears were forming in eyes at the pain of having slivers in my hand. Ethan chuckled, and stepped over the glass to me. He took a hold of my arm, steadying me as I hopped over the glass. His touch seemed to warm my arm and the rest of my body.

"Come with me," Ethan said, lifting me over the glass. For the second time that night, I did.

"I think seeing it makes it hurt more," I said feeling the stinging sensation in my palm. The fluorescent lights in the stairwell, let me see my cut more clearly. I was a little surprised, as I hadn't been aware I'd been gripping the glass so tightly.

"Favourite food?" Ethan asked. I looked at him in confusion. "This is me distracting you."

"New England Clam Chowder!" I smiled. "No other type is even remotely good enough. What's your favourite band?"

"The Lighthouse and The Whaler."

"Wow! You really are a hipster!" Ethan's eye narrowed at me but the smile on his face told me that he wasn't serious. Just like that walk down the stairs was filled with the light questions we had skipped in the beginning, and I was thankful that I was no longer talking about my dark past.

I glanced down at my palm, when we stood in the elevator, willing the sharp, stinging sensation to disappear. It felt like getting stung by several bees in the same spot.

"What's your biggest pet peeve?" Ethan asked suddenly, taking my hand in his once again. He blew softly on it, trying to cool it, but I was concentrated on how warm he made the rest of me feel.

"Um... g-getting interrupted. What about you?"

"When people are in a rush to get somewhere and push people out of the way," Ethan said before blowing on my cut again. He liked to take his time and observe life. I smiled at that. Though I was still wondering if the alcohol was making me dizzy, I knew that in reality, Ethan's presence was what was truly intoxicating.

We stepped off the elevator then headed towards a bathroom. I leaned against the counter, as Ethan washed his hands. There weren't too many pieces of glass in my skin, so though I squirmed, he managed to get them out.

"It should heal just fine, right?" I asked, putting my palm under the tap, and running the water. I flinched at the contact.

"Yeah, I don't think it's as bad as it looks." Ethan got a paper towel and pressed it softly to my wound. His arm nudged my bracelets, which revealed little white scars and red marks underneath them. I tried to pull my hand away from him, afraid that he'd drop my hand and leave. Instead, his eyes found mine as he held my hand softly, refusing the action and lifted it towards his face to look at it. He let out a breath, as if he was affected by what I did to myself.

Slowly, he pressed his lips to the top of my wrist. The contact seemed to set beneath my skin ablaze. "You'll be okay. In time, you'll be okay," he murmured, maybe trying to convince the both of us. The fire seemed to spread to my eyes, because they were burning, with tears that wanted to put it out.

We then left the bathroom, and we headed back to the club, though I had a feeling my friends wouldn't be there. I'd take a taxi and meet them later at our shared apartment when they felt like coming home.

Ethan walked with me outside, to the front of the club, and hailed a taxi for me. I felt a strange sense of sadness, knowing that our night was over. Nothing like this had ever happened before. I was usually okay with being a wallflower, with keeping people at arms length. It was weird feeling this attached to someone – especially a person I'd just met. But it wasn't a bad weird.

"Ethan?"

"Hmm?"

"Is tonight just a feeling?"

A small smile crept across his features. "I hope not."

I nodded, relief spreading through me faster than the shots that I had downed that night. I opened the door of the cab.

"Hey, Sarah?"

With one foot in, stilettos back on my feet, I turned around.

"Happy birthday," he said. I gave him a small smile, feeling somewhat deflated. "And, I'll see you on Saturday morning."

He gave me a bright grin, and just like that, I was on fire again.

_____________

Author's Note: Hey everyone! So I don't usually write short stories, and this one is probably going to end up being somewhere between a short story and a novel, but I wanted to continue Sarah and Ethan's story past this point, so we'll see where they take us! I hope you liked this part! Vote and comment if you did :)