Kitsune: The Flip Side

Lou pressed his forehead against the cool glass. The bus shuddered as it moved, the vibration humming through his entire body. He’d just called Kit, but she hadn’t picked up. Maybe she was on stage… or asleep already… or just busy. He’d wanted to talk so badly. To hear her voice. Their conversations were something else—Lou would say something in Russian, she’d laugh and correct him. In English, he had to build his sentences as if he were talking to a toddler, and even then, she only understood half of it. It didn’t matter; it was wonderful. Without his regular dose of this dopamine, Lou felt hollow. The lads were still awake, but no one bothered him. Everyone was well aware of his Great Love and High Suffering. If he was sitting there with his brow furrowed and that tragic look in his eyes, it meant his girl wasn’t picking up. Best not to make jokes about it. For some reason, Sparks’s sense of humour completely vanished at times like this. Lou moped for a bit longer, then took a photo of his miserable face and sent it to her. Let her see how bad he felt without her on this sodding tour. Sad puppy eyes reflected in the dark window. Then he thought better of it and sent another message: “What are you doing? Busy? Call when you can. Miss you…” She hadn’t come, no matter how much he’d begged. And she hadn’t allowed anything like that video chat session again, much to Lou’s regret. But she was sweet with him, tender, answered his calls willingly… when she felt like it. Basically, she kept him on a very short, very firm leash. Lou got it—he wasn’t an idiot. But he couldn’t do a thing about it. Didn’t want to, either. He loved her, you see. He loved this second-by-second dying, this coiled spring in his heart, this heat pouring under his ribs. Never before had another human being become an entire Universe to him. After restless tossing and turning, Lou finally fell asleep. It wasn’t until dawn that a reply came, one that seemed very strange, especially to his sleep-fogged brain. Kit wrote: “I spin your Galaxy! :)” Obviously, a nod to the band’s name—Run Up My Galaxy. But what did she mean by it? Morning. Blinding sun. Another city. Another stage. A sea of heads and upraised arms. Stepping onto the stage, Lou felt the usual pre-show jitters. He always got nervous—it was normal. But this time, the familiar feeling was joined by a weird, sickeningly sweet shiver. As if something was about to happen, and it wasn’t clear yet if it would be good or bad. Kit still wasn’t answering. Or rather, her phone was switched off entirely, as a polite, robotic voice informed him. Lou was so wound up he was trembling like a hot-blooded horse at the starting gate. However, once the microphone settled into his palm with its familiar weight, he suddenly went stone-cold calm. Everything went like clockwork—one song, then the next. The crowd, knowing the lyrics by heart, was going mental with joy. Energy surged in waves, rolling off the stage and crashing back, magnified a hundred times. Lou felt like he was in the ocean surf. At one point, he closed his eyes, doubling over, screaming out everything that hurt, then looked down at the ocean of faces. His heart leaped into his throat and plummeted back down. There, by the stage, on the left… a flash of fire. Something bright, like a fox’s tail. It couldn’t be! He ran to the very edge. Her. Her! She was standing in the raging crowd, calm, her chin tilted up proudly like a duchess. She watched with focused intensity, as if she were at the opera rather than a rock show. She didn’t give a toss about being shoved from all sides. A tilted face framed by jagged orange locks. Seeing that he’d spotted her, she reached out and up… and flipped him a middle finger. Then she stuck her tongue out. And laughed. Lou dived into the crowd without a second thought. Dozens of hands caught him, carried him. He tore through shoulders and heads toward that blazing bonfire of hair. The crowd, with that strange collective intelligence such gatherings possess, realized where he was heading and rolled the lightweight vocalist right up to her. “Kit!” She reached out, catching his hands. Fingers interlaced. Louis hauled her out of the human mess, and the living ocean rolled them back toward the stage. Security was already frantic, trying to fish the wayward object out of the fans' grip. He felt fabric tear. That t-shirt was going to be souvenirs. Someone caught him right in the nose with a stray hand. Didn’t matter, as long as he didn’t let go. Kit! Crazy, insane, adored! Fucking Kitsune! The crowd spat them out onto the stage. Strong arms from security hauled them up. Lou didn’t loosen his grip, terrified that if he let go, this ginger bitch would vanish like a hallucination. Only when he was standing firm on his feet did he feel the warm trickle from his nose. He looked into those shining honey-green eyes and shook with joy. He couldn’t believe this was actually happening. He must be delirious. Or dreaming. Or high. Kit freed a hand and carefully wiped the blood away. Louis caught her palm, pressed it to his lips. He closed his eyes and rubbed his cheek against it. Real. Smelling of warmth, grass, dust, some kind of perfume. His blood. Kit leaned into him, and he hugged her, squeezing so hard she probably couldn’t breathe. The crowd roared in approval. Only then did Lou snap out of it and realize the lads were looping the bridge, improvising to give him time. He turned, seeing Jeff grinning from ear to ear. Kit patted his cheek, gently freed herself from his arms, stepped aside, and sat at the edge of the stage, immediately kicking off her shoes and tucking her legs under her. Simple and cozy, as if she were at home in her own armchair. She nodded—carry on. Lou ripped off his torn shirt, wiped the rest of the blood, and slung it into the crowd. Then he kicked off his shoes, too. If Kit was barefoot, he was singing like that, too. Assistants were already bringing ice from backstage. Lou waved them off, picked up the mic… Singing while she watched him… she spread her fingers and licked a drop of blood with her sharp little tongue, smiling slyly, like a predator. Shivers and heat raced through his body from head to toe. He gave it everything, as if this were the single most important performance of his life. He saw nothing but those almond, translucent eyes—cool wells. Anything, anything at all—just to see admiration shining in them. She sang along, occasionally glancing at the frenzied fans. Her warm composure stripped Lou of the last of his will and reason. In the short breaks between songs, he’d walk over to her just to touch her, hold her hand, run a palm through her hair. She didn’t melt. She didn’t disappear. It was a real, bloody, fucking miracle. Lou prayed silently to every god for this happiness. They didn’t say a word to each other—they didn’t need to. Not yet. Hundreds of mobile phone cameras caught these moments. In a couple of hours, the whole internet would be buzzing, hunting for info on her, making up gossip… Fan girls would dump heaps of lies and shit on Kit’s head. He hated them already for it. Finally, it was over. The bows, the drumsticks tossed into the crowd. Louis glanced at Kit. She’d pulled her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. How was she even comfortable, with her bust? Curled into a cozy ball. A fox. A ginger cat. A shapeshifter. He dropped to his knees, literally crawling toward the woman he loved to the point of madness. He looked into her eyes. She smiled and said: “I spun your Galaxy.” “More than that, Kitty, much more…” Even while signing autographs and taking photos with fans, Lou wouldn’t have let go of her hand if she’d allowed it. But Kit chose a spot a bit further away, quite independent, sitting on an empty table, swinging her legs, casually licking an ice cream as she watched the lines of fans. The initial rush of the meeting gave way to a very clear desire: to be alone with Kit as soon as possible. Autograph sessions had never felt so exhausting, long, and repulsive to Louis. He hated every screaming little girl stealing precious minutes he could be spending with Kit. Instead of autographs, he wanted to draw dicks and write “Why don’t you all just fuck off!” So that’s why she wasn’t picking up: she was at the airport, on a plane… She’d wanted to surprise him. It worked perfectly, absolutely brilliant! He hadn’t kissed her yet… properly… and he tried to imagine what it would be like. How to do it… what her lips tasted like. Sweet right now, for sure, she was eating ice cream… Naturally, the thought of a kiss flowed into thoughts of sex. He imagined touching her, undressing her, caressing that long-desired body… Those curves… How she would moan as she gave herself to him… Or maybe she’d be forceful and active? He wouldn’t mind… Shit! Nice one, Lou! Good thing his t-shirt was long enough. The last thing he needed was another scandal with some idiot imagining she was a princess and he was out to shag her at any cost. Lou looked up from the hundredth poster of his own pretty face and glanced at Kit. She gave him an encouraging smile. God, please let this be over soon. Please!