Chapter Text
He's there, again the kid with the thick rimmed glasses and the dorky teeth. He comes every Wednesday and only on Wednesday and he always sits in the same seat-- towards the back in the left corner, just out of the light from the stage. You wonder if he sits back there to hide from the fact that he's always here but you notice him every time. If you don't spot him yourself, one of the bouncers will elbow you with a "your boyfriend's here, again" attached to mock you. Haha, it's the big joke and everyone laughs.
Wednesday is open mic night at the dark basement club you perform at. Sometimes, you'll get to have your own night where the stage is all yours and you close that shit down. But, for the most part, you settle for Wednesdays and sharing your precious stage with the amateurs that show up. Whenever it's your turn, mystery boy claps the loudest. His laugh resounds over everyone else's when you crack a joke and you already know that his favorite ones are the puns you slip in ever so subtly. When you make a pun, his face lights right up in that dark corner and you don't know why you like seeing that expression on him so much.
This Wednesday is no different. You stand next to the DJ behind the stage and peer out into the audience. It's not as crowded as it usually is and you figure it's because classes started this week. Summer's over and you wonder briefly if your biggest fan is going to show his toothy mug tonight. The sudden thought that he might not show up makes you less enthusiastic about getting up there and that's stupid because you and the stage are practically soul mates. You have an understanding with the stage.
The DJ taps your shoulder and you pop your head back from behind the curtain. He tells you that you're on in two and you go prepare your guitar and toy keyboard. You do shit your own way and everyone loves you for it. This club probably would've been shut down a long time ago if you hadn't shown up and saved the place. Still, you aren't more important than classes, apparently and that's a harsh blow to the club's income.
When the last person before you is done with her dark poetry, everyone claps and she trudges off stage. She takes the high five you have presented to her and you saunter on stage, nodding towards the few people sitting at the round tables in the front. You take your place on the single stool in the middle of the spot light and prop your feet up.
"Looks like the crowd's been pretty thinned out. I guess that means we can get close and personal tonight, what do you think, folks? Y'all are pretty fortunate that you get the Strider's velvety voice all to yourselves, tonight, aren't you?" there's hollering and whistling from the small crowd and as you tune your guitar and look back up, adjusting the microphone, you notice him. He's in his usual seat with his usual drink wearing that usual grin. Your heart skips a small beat but it doesn't show on your face. You have a reputation to uphold.
A button is pushed on your small keyboard and you nod your head to the beat before starting up the melody with your acoustic. Everyone watches you in awe as you perform like an oracle, channeling the gods of music and sick beats.
You stop plucking and grab the mic, again, licking your chapped lips. "This here's a cover of a song that refuses to leave my head."
You start strumming again and open your mouth and the music comes out in an easy, sad melody to go along with the lyrics.
There's anthrax in the envelope I opened in my dream
The sky is red and little kids are running, screaming in the street
I tried to run and save them but I had molasses feet
I keep having nightmares and I'm scared to go to sleep
You glance at the back corner and your fan is still there, not like he'd leave or anything but you make sure, nonetheless. He has his head propped up on his hands and his jaw is slightly slack. You hope that means he is completely engulfed by your voice.
The music stops again and you grab the mic, "Alright, now I'm going to need some help with the chorus. I'll sing it alone, this time but you better not leave me hanging for the next time around, so pay attention." You then go right into the chorus with vigor and people laugh and clap and a few know it, already.
If you fall in I'll jump down
And touch your face while we're both sinking
(stinking thinking) we won't drown
You are my friend
And what we're doing's too important
For our lives to end quite yet
Through those lines, your eyes never leave that dark corner and you are slightly disappointed that your own personal fan doesn't already know this song. If he wants to be your groupie, he's going to have to get his music taste straightened out.
In Montreal I got so mad, someone broke into the van
Stole my guitar and Aaron’s bag
Then we turned on CNN, watched the towers fall again
And realized that our lives aren't so bad
You strum harshly and your eyes go back up to stare at the boy's straight on. Even if your shades hide your freakishly colored eyes, you hope the boy knows that you acknowledge his presence and appreciate him coming to support you, even if it is from far away.
This is just a test take it with love and you will pass
You will be rewarded if you do your very best
Nothing ever goes as planned so don't take anything for granted
If you do the world will kick your ass
When you get to the chorus again, more people sing along and you are rewarded with seeing the mouth of your mystery boy moving ever so slightly along with the words. You wish you could hear him, maybe he could sing well. Maybe he would come up and introduce himself and you could ask why he only comes when you're going to be on stage.
You finish up the song and everyone claps and cheers and the shot girl brings you a gin and coke, courtesy of the bar tender. You raise the glass to him and then to the audience, who raise their cups back. You then point your glass to the back corner and nod. The boy lifts his head slightly and opens his mouth, obviously in shock that you have brought attention to him and you lean towards the microphone lazily.
"A toast... to those who are either truant or don't give a shit about the man or his education." shouts come from the small group and you chuckle slightly. "May your nights be long and your days be hung-over." With that, you take your shot and the crowd follows.
You are allowed as many encores as the crowd wants, which comes out to be four more songs. You oblige them because they love you and you love them and the mystery boy stays and listens through it all. You give the crowd another acoustic song before laying down some phat beats and slamming down some poetry. You make it a note to sneak in some jabs at the kid who always comes to watch you perform but never makes himself known. He is like a shy rabbit, afraid to come out into the open to play with the other rabbits because there is a hawk watching and that hawk could very well be you, in this instance. Don't worry, little bunny. You might snatch him up, but you won't hurt him.
You bow and leave the stage and there is loud cheering from your adoring fans. The manager congratulates you on another successful night and gives you your hard earned cash. It's tonight's tips from the bar and earnings from the performance. You nod a thanks to him and head to out the back door to catch some air in the cool alley way.
Leaning on the wall opposite of the club, you look up and try to spot any stars in the hazy night sky. Eh, it's hard when you're in the middle of a city. You can see the moon, though. It's huge and beautiful and you lose yourself in thought.
"It's nice, but it'd be better if there were stars around, too."
Your head snaps down and the mystery boy walks up with a smile on his face. He's so very pale that he almost glows and you stay quiet until he walks right up to you. Usually, you are hounded by girls after you perform and it's usually in this alley way. You had started dipping out early on some of the more crowded nights and avoiding resting out here altogether. You wonder if he's ever tried to get your attention before but you never noticed because you were always preoccupied.
"Yeah." You finally answer him and you feel completely awkward. This is a first.
You both stand in silence and he scuffs his sneakers on the pavement idly before looking up at you, again. "I really enjoyed your performance, tonight, by the way!" He beams a smile up at you and you are almost physically knocked back.
"Thanks..." You look away before turning back. "Uuh, you come often..."
"Y-yeah! I guess I do! Haha..." He glances down at his feet for a few more moments before smiling back up at you and saying a short good bye. He then runs away and you are left to wonder what the fuck that all was.
The next few weeks, you are able to squeeze a few extra performances in on days that other slightly more popular bands and artists play at your tiny club. You suspect that they are just hurting for money, so they had to call in the underdog, the blacksheep, the secret weapon. It's whatever, you could always use a few extra bucks. And you definitely cannot deny the stage what she so rightfully deserves. Your feet firmly planted on her wooden planks and an eerie hymn you've cooked up just for her and your biggest fan. Luckily for both, they're present on one of those particular nights and you ignore the slight sensation your chest gets when you see him out there in the thinned crowd, his hands placed neatly under his chin, propped up by his elbows. You stroll out on stage and tap the mic and let loose the rhythm that you were born with. No use keeping all of it locked up tight when it's meant to be shared with the world.
Afterwards, you figure it's safe enough for you to chill out by the bar. Not many people means not many interruptions as you sip on whatever the bartender decided to test out on you today. You tell him it's digestible but only barely and he sighs and takes your empty glass, anyway. You zone out for God knows how long until a meek voice invades your inner ear.
"Gr...Great performance tonight! As usual..."
You glance to your side and your eyes only slightly widen as you stare into the glossy blue orbs of the boy who's only slightly taken up most of your thoughts for the past few weeks.
He fidgets for a while, probably waiting for your stupid ass to reply to him, already.
"Don't even mention it. I see you've enjoyed yourself, as usual..." You hope that didn't make you sound like a huge douche. Usually you don't care what people think about you but you feel like hurting this kid's feelings would probably feel just as good as kicking a sick puppy. You wouldn't kick a sick puppy, would you?
After a few moments of awkward silence (that of which seems to be a reoccurring element), you finally ask him if you could buy him a drink and after a round of stuttering protests, he sits next to you on a bar stool and accepts, blushing. What is he, 5 or something?
"How long have you been playing instruments and singing? You do a lot of different things up there, it's pretty impressive. I mean, I only know how to play the piano, myself... Do you know how to play the piano? Ah, that was a stupid question, you use that little toy keyboard. Do you have a real keyboard-- aah I didn't mean like it's not a real instrument or anything like that! Shit... Uhh..."
You snort, despite never cracking your perfect mask for no one and sip your drink, waiting for him to cool the back burners.
"I dabble in anything I can get my hands on, bro. But I only use that piece of junk for ironic beats. I found it behind some dumpster one night and bought it off a hobo for some pocket change and half my sandwich. True story."
He laughs and it's childish and whimsical sounding. You might enjoy the sound of it. So much so that you're already writing a song in your head about it. Except you're not because that would be lame as shit.
"Well, either way you put on quite the show."
"You like it that much, huh..."
"Well, I keep coming back!" He beams a smile at you and it almost physically knocks you out of your seat.
You have nothing to say to this and so you do the only thing you know how to, look away and conceal what you are thinking with your perfect pokerface. He goes back to his drink and it's awkward again. Usually awkward situations don't bother you because you know the other person is feeling it more than you but not with him. The awkwardness is suffocating and you want to end it as quickly as possible. You fish around in the endless sea of ideas and creativity that is your brain until you realize dumbly that you don't even know his name yet and that would be a good ice breaker. Probably the best ice breaker in all of ice breaking.
"Uh, so... You got a name, or something?" Smooth, but it seems to work as he blinks at you stupidly. Understanding hits his face like a bullet and his expression softens, shooting that same one-hit KO smile at you and you don't even have a shield to hold up.
"It's John! Uhh and I only know you by your stage name... some fan I am, haha." He laughs but you can tell that he's embarrassed.
"Dave." For some reason, you can't seem to say much more than that. You blame his nervousness for making you feel on edge, as if him being embarrassed means that you have to be embarrassed as well which is fucking stupid.
"W-Whoa, I feel like it's really special or something for me to know that name! Like I've been invited to some secret organization and that's the password, or something!" He laughs again and it's really relaxing to hear. You catch the sides of your mouth pointing upward slightly and you force them back into place before he can notice. You hope he didn't notice. He probably didn't but the slight coloring on his face tells you otherwise. Fuck.
In the 45 minutes the two of you talk at that bar, you learn that he goes to the local community college because he doesn't quite know what he wants to do with his life yet, that he dabbles in stage magic and lives in a studio apartment on the other side of town. He's allergic to cats and doesn't like cake, especially yellow cake. His dad lives in Washington where he grew up but he hated the rain and the coldness so when he left the nest, he decided on a state that was the complete opposite. You also learned that he hates how big his feet are and that he wishes he didn't have to wear glasses. To this, you tell him you don't notice a thing wrong with him and that shuts him up for a few minutes while he blushes into his drink.
You offer to give him a ride home since he's had a few two many in his system but he assures you he's taking the bus and you walk him to the station. He pleasantly chats your ear off and you don't get a word in but that's okay. You like how adamant he is about any subject that comes up. And to your surprise, he always has something positive to say. Usually, people complain, you complain, everyone is always pissed off about something. Not him. John is a bottomless well of happy thoughts. You catch yourself wanting to know the things that irk him. Do they even exist? That can't be possible, no one is this goody-goody.
When the bus arrives, you hold out a fist for a nice solid bunp but he bats it away and hugs you, laughing. You stiffen right up because you are not used to people being this chummy with you. Your family isn't even this affectionate. You have not been properly trained in this field, soldier. But you pat his back awkwardly, anyway and he gets on the bus and waves at you from the window he sits at.
Visiting the coffee shop by your small apartment is a rarity you hate to partake in but sometimes you need something to keep you going and there just isn't anything in your cupboards save for some packets of sugar from god knows where. So, you saunter down to the small cafe. There is nothing on this earth that could keep you in that tiny, crowded shop of dread for more than just the amount of time it would take to make a medium black coffee, but the moon could keep you in there for hours.
John is standing in line when you enter the glass doors with a ding from the bell. You panic on the inside but show no sign of it. No need to make a scene about it. You two do live in the same city, this was bound to happen eventually, right? Would it be weird to talk to him now? Would he think you're following him now that you know he knows who you are? These thoughts repeat in your head before you realize you have been taking up the doorway the entire time and you walk in more briskly than you should have but it's no big deal, right? If you have that nonchalant face plastered on your head, no one will think it was strange at all. Yeah.
You have decided to at least greet the poor sod. If you're going to be realistic, it is what people who know each other do and also he will most likely be giddy about it. John doesn't think badly of people. He wouldn't think badly of you for bumping into him outside of the club scene, you're sure. Why are you still so nervous?
"Sup." You say as you stand next to him, staring at the menu nailed above the baristas. He starts but then laughs when he sees that it's just you.
"Oh, Dave! Morning! Haha. Getting some coffee?" He smiles at you and you're no longer surprised at the effect it has on you.
You shrug as a response and he goes off on what he's thinking about getting but that he's not sure what he feels like drinking right now. He then comments on how hot it is outside and how that is going to effect what he orders. You let a chuckle slip because Jesus, he has this all planned out and he's taking coffee ordering really fucking seriously.
After the two of you order, he tells you that he came here to study but that he wasn't expecting so many people to be here so he doesn't know what his plan is anymore. You tell him that there's a library around the corner where he could probably get some quiet alone time. He looks uncertain and you tell him you'll show him where it is, yourself.
"You will?"
"Yeah sure. I got nothing better to do." You say this as uninterested as possible. He smiles and thanks you just the same and you like how your name rolls out of his mouth like he's been saying it his whole damn life.
When you make it to the library, you tell him that he can study until his eyes fall out and he thanks you again.
"Oh, before you go, because I know you're a busy DJ with musicy things to do, why don't I give you my number!" He doesn't give you a reason why this is a logical thing to do or ask if you want it or even gives you time to respond before he's scribbling it out on his coffee reciet and handing it to you with an expectant smile on his face. You take the paper mechanically. "Don't forget to text me so I know it's you!" He strolls into the library after that and you obediantly take out your phone and text him.
How'd he...
The rest of your day is spent texting him back and forth about things that would normally bore you, but he takes such great interest in everything that it is impossible for you to get bored when he's so vigorous about everything. He thinks it's cool that you support yourself entirely with just the gigs at the club and selling CDs you make yourself. He also finds it overly interesting that your older brother basically raised you and that you have a history of sword fighting and a fear of stuffed animals and puppets. When he asks how you could possibly be scared of a stuffed inanimate object, you tell him he's obviously never had to stare into the dead eyes of a smuppet before.
EB: haha! well i dunno about all that but it sounds like your bro was just doing it on purpose. you know, to get a rise out of you and all that.
TG: thats a pretty sick fucking way to go about it... he probably doesnt even know the complex hes instilled in me douche doesnt even care bet hes sitting in a recliner right now laughing about it as he jacks off to muppets in space or some shit
EB: eewwwww... i know where you get how weird you are, now.
TG: what
EB: admit it, youre kinda weird...
TG: i am not following john please dig yourself a bigger hole
EB: haha
TG: and then fall into it
EB: pfffft dave srsly i am in a library, dont make me laugh!!!
TG: i am being serious this is as serious as i can get i am already purchasing a shovel as we speak so that you can save up enough energy to dig that grave
EB: dave please!!!!! i am in stitches!!!!
TG: you will be when im through with you
EB: i keep reading your texts in that monotone voice of yours and it is not helping your case at all. i am giggling like a little girl. people are starting to stare.
TG: good let them stare
EB: DAVE!! AHAHAHAA
TG: what you should be studying anyway put the phone down
EB: youre not my mom.
TG: how much have you read in that big ass text book you were carrying around???
EB: okay okay... fine, ill get back to reading.
TG: thats a good asshole
EB: itd be a lot easier if you would STOP TEXTING ME BACK hahahaha.
TG: sorry consider this the last you hear of me
EB: yeah right. you seem quiet but youre really the type that can talk someones ear off.
TG: pots callin the kettle black.
EB: and youre so defensive!!! its really funny, actually. i wouldve never guessed!
TG: john i am warning you
EB: okay, okay, okay... im opening my book as i text this.
TG: ...
EB: dont dot dot dot me, young man.
TG: you havent even opened it yet
EB: !!! looks like the jigs up. ill talk to you later, i really should be getting this done. are you performing tonight?
TG: naw
EB: that sucks. they dont need you then?
TG: seems that way im used to their abuse anyway its how ive chosen to live my life
EB: aww...
TG: no no dont feel bad for me now get started on that so youre not there all night
EB: why, are you doing something tonight?
TG: i can be what are you doing tonight
EB: ionno... nothing, probably
You stare at that last text by him with your thumb hovered over your phone ready to say something. You know what you want to say. You want to invite him over and talk more with him. It has become extremely easy to converse with the bucktoothed fool and that is not something that happens between you and people often. After a moment of an inner pep talk, you find the courage to reply with what you really want to say
TG: well then shit if were both doing nothing why dont we do nothing together
EB: sounds logical...
TG: i mean if you think you can handle basking in my spotlight without getting dissintigrating then why dont we chill somewhere
EB: pfft okay, cool guy. you are so very cool that standing in a 5 foot radius of you gives me a chill down my spine.
TG: i have that effect on people i cant help it this is a serious condition of mine john how dare you make fun of me for it
EB: hahaha
TG: its chronic
EB: ill head over when im done with his chapter, whats your address?
You hear a knock around 10 later that night and you rush to the door but you'll never own up to it. You answer the door as if it was almost a bother to do and he greets you warmly. You only feel slightly embarrassed.
"Welcome to Chateau de Strider." You let him in and he laughs at you and looks around.
"I'm digging the posters, I didn't know you had this range of taste of music. Haha!" This is when you notice he's holding a plastic bag and he sets it on the small dining table on the sidelines of your living room and begins to take out white stirafoam boxes."I needed dinner and since I was coming over anyway, I bought extras of things. I hope you like Chinese!"
You can't bring yourself to say no, and it's not like you'd want to anyway. Food is always a yes. Always. You sit at the table with him and he tells you about what he had to study and then expresses how pleased he is that he remembered it all and how much relief that gives him. You mockingly congratulate him and he flicks rice at you.
Afterwards you show him the spare room where you keep all of your musical equipment. He gapes and gawks and makes every surprised noise possible. He sees the turntables and hovers his hand over them, afraid to touch lest he should break it on accident. You tell him you can show him a few tracks on there and he gasps which you take as a "please Dave, I want you to show me the world." You sit at the lawn chair propped up next to them and let your fingers do what they do best. You are but a mere vessel and as soon as your hands hit any sort of instrument, the power flows through you and out your fingers. It's like tai chi, only with music and you wouldn't have it any other way. This is your gift and you own up to it and flaunt it, willingly.
John stares at you slack jawed and when you question him to make sure he's still in this world with everyone else, he tells you it's different seeing it up close than seeing it from the audience. You ask him if it's a good thing and he simply replies with a yes. This does nothing less than make your heart skip a beat and you clear your throat, for the first time, too flattered to say a word.
He spots your toy keyboard in the corner and asks if he can play it. You shrug and he walks over and plops down on the floor putting it on his lap. You watch as he brushes his fingers over the tiny keys and plays a small tune. It's happy and childlike, probably because it's a toy keyboard and already sounds like that but he is smiling so broadly as he presses his fingers on the keys and it adds to the whole experience.
His face becomes so animated when he plays. You discover this after weeks of repeating musical jam hangouts. He comes over when you aren't performing at the dinky basement club and you both spend the night eating, drinking, and creating some rather sick beats. There is a formula, here. You start the beat, add the rhythm, the effects, John will listen for a few moments until the inspiration hits him and he then lets loose the melody he has concocted in his tiny mind on the tiny keyboard. This is an entirely new experience for you. His style is sing-songy and classical and the complete opposite of yours but compliments your style so well it almost feels like it was meant to be.
"Do you ever write your own songs, Dave?" John asks you while idly strumming your cheap, pawn shop guitar. You started teaching him some chords two nights ago and he seems to have caught on a lot quicker than you thought. Long fingers help, so does a history in piano.
You shrug and he continues strumming.
"What kinds of things inspire you?"
"Whatever decides to rear it's big, ugly head at me and hit me right in the spot that gives me ideas." You tap at your temple with a finger and go back to editing on your laptop.
"So, basically, anything? I've never composed my own piano piece... Always wanted to but I wouldn't even know where to begin."
You close your computer and stare at him thoughtfully. "It's not about knowing where to begin, but feeling it, bro. That's how it always happens with me."
He contemplates this for a second. "So, if I were to tell you to write a song about me, you wouldn't be able to unless you were hit with a sudden urge to do it?"
"Basically."
John stares at you for a moment before you raise an eyebrow over the rim of your glasses in question. He then sighs and mentions something about how you must've not gotten that hit of inspiration like he thought you would. This puzzles you until you realize that he probably wants to inspire you and that thought almost induces inspiration. Almost.
That specific conversation sticks with you as you go through your weekly routines. He comes to your shows, still and hangs with you afterwards. You send more jabs at him from on stage and no one gets the jokes but the two of you. You wouldn't have it any other way. You sometimes drive him home and sometimes he stays at your place or vice versa. It has been too long since you've found another human being whom you don't mind spending every moment with. He becomes an average aspect of your life, the norm, comfort, and everything else that is good and stable.
When he stays the night, you force him to have your bed while you take up the futon in your room and he chats your ear off until you both fall asleep. These are the moments where you learn the most about him. He will go on tangents about his childhood, how he always stayed inside, save for piano lessons and school and when he was at school, he was usually in trouble for pulling some prank. He tells you he really couldn't help it. He'd see an opportunity to do something funny and indulge the urge. People thought he was hilarious and he liked the spotlight, but he never had the guts to go out of his way to get to know people and he thinks that must've made him seem kind of stand-offish. This is surprising to you because you always thought of him as being really outgoing and friendly and not exactly like you.
"What about you? You seem to spend most of your time with me, don't you, you know, know other people?" He asks you one night while you both lay in your respective beds.
"I don't hang out with people who can't handle me. It just so happens that narrows it down nicely." You say without turning towards him. He's quiet for a moment and you guess that means he's making a displeased face at you, which he normally does when you say something that is on the negative side.
"Are you just shy?"
"I don't even know what the fuck that word means."
"Dave..." He says it in mock disapproving tone, but you know he wants a straight answer. Too bad, you don't give out straight answers like candy on Halloween. They have to be earned.
"John..." You copy his tone and he laughs and chucks a pillow at you before asking to have it back because that was the one he was going to sleep on. You chuck it back and hit him square in the face.
"You are so lucky I don't have my glasses on, oh man..." He laughs and throws it back and that is the last straw. You jump up and onto your bed with the pillow and whack him a few times. He yelps and laughs and grabs your wrists to stop you and you end up using your body weight to push him over, but he pulls you down with him and you are now in quite the predicament.
Neither of you ever talked about why John would always come and watch you perform. You never asked what made him approach you that first night in the alley way or why it was that you two seemed to get along so well in such a short time, or even why sometimes, when you complimented him or let him play around with your turntables or perform songs just for him, he'd get a soft look in his eye, a small, sad smile, and a tinting to his cheeks. He never asked why you would let him stay over or pick him up whenever he wanted to hang out or buy him drinks after you performed. These were no-mans-land question, they were taboo and it was a silent rule never to get into it.
But, here you are, bent over his body, pinning him down because he still hasn't let go of your wrists and he is staring up at you with doe eyes. The silence of the room is screaming in your ears and you don't realize you had stopped breathing until you inhale very sharply and apologize at the same time he does.
You push off of him and he sits up slightly, looking everywhere but your face and babbling about how dangerous pillow fights are and how you two should probably get to sleep. You don't hear any of that because his face is red to the tips of his ears and the color (or what you can see of it in the dim room) is mesmerizing to you. He wrestles you off of the bed and you finally make it back to your futon to sleep. It doesn't come easily for you, though. You stay awake with his blue eyes burned permanently in your mind and a fluttering feeling in your chest you don't think you will ever be able to deal with. You are completely sure he is just oblivious John, he will never realize just what he does to you unless you tell him straight out and Dave Strider never tells secrets, especially his own.