It was Saturday night and you had run away from Tommen’s confusion.

They left the band’s guys at the bar and took two beers each, locking themselves in his room. The mattress on the floor, stacked discs, posters crumpled on the wall, Christmas light flashing pie in the corner. His guitar dropped in a corner, with a pick stuck between the strings.

You lay on your stomach, your head hanging out of the mattress, laughing out of nowhere.

“Did you know... that your wall looks crooked?” - you said, laughing, while pointing to the ceiling.

Patrick was sitting next to him, shirt open, cigarette in his ear and a Lou Reed vinyl slowly spinning on an old record player.

“Everything in this room is crooked, including me.” - he replied, laughing together, before turning the beer straight out of the bottle.

“Take a walk on the wild side...” began to play softly. And you looked at him with that dangerous glow in your eyes.

“Let’s sing, Feely. Come on. Come on.” - you climbed to your knees on the mattress and pulled his T-shirt hard, almost knocking over the beer.

He laughed, throwing his head back, before taking the guitar and pulling the notes with his drunken fingers.

“Only if you go to the “colored girls” and do “doo doo doo doo doo doo doo...” in the chorus.”

“OBVIOUS!” - you shouted, already shaking your head in rhythm.

You started kind of wrong, out of tun, interrupting each other with laughter.

“Holly came from Miami F-L-A...” he hummed dragged, with the Irish accent sliding deliciously through every word.

You followed by clapping your hands, laughing so much that you could barely sing.

When you arrived at the chorus, you two shouted together:

“TAKE A WALK ON THE WILD SIIIIDE!”

“DOO DOO DOO DOO DOO DOO DOO...”

And it was in the middle of one of these “doo doo” that he took you by surprise. The guitar fell on the mattress, and his mouth found yours with the taste of beer, laughter and everything that was just the two of you.

The kiss was hot, intense, messy like the rest of the night.

His hands holding your face, as if he was afraid that you would disappear.

You running your fingers through his hair, laughing between kisses.

“I love you” - he said, suddenly, in the middle of the chaos.

You froze. The eyes glued to his. He seemed surprised too. As if the words had escaped by accident.

“I... I’m drunk. Forget it. Shit, forget that I...”

You put your finger on his mouth.

“I love you too, you idiot.”

He smiled.

And he pulled you close again singing the song now more smiling than before.

And that’s how you were: singing Lou Reed, laughing, loving and losing yourself in each other.

Two misfits with the soul of an artist, too in love, in the gray city who never imagined having such a beautiful couple.