Last Request

I watched him sit up on stage, his feet tucked under his stool, his guitar resting on his knee. The chords were so smooth his hands didn't appear to move over the strings, up and down the frets. He was facing down, concentrating.

Shadows cast over his face, making him appear more mysterious, compelling you to keep watching him. He lifted his head and closed his eyes, leaning towards the microphone. His voice eased into the music, the word hasty never sounded so gentle.

'If I'm only eighteen...' he finished, ending the show. The lights dimmed overhead, applause rising in the small room. It was a warm bar, just a few tables, dim lights, some stools here and there. Nothing major.

He looked up and grinned this gorgeous crooked grin out into the audience, putting his hand up in a sort-of wave and drawling 'thank you' into the microphone with a strong voice, heavily layered with a thick Scottish accent.

I just stayed at the bar with my drink, drawing invisible hearts on the mahagony bar counter. It was impossible not to notice that he was absolutely gorgeous, He had olive tinted skin, and yet it was sometimes pale, depending on how long he'd been gone, and where. Shaggy brown hair hung around his face, bangs tossed into a scattered fringe. His eyes were often distant, as if he were deep in thought.

'A beer please, John,' a smooth voice asked, and a bar stool could be heard sliding along the floor as it was dragged out.

'Nutini. Still making your grandfather proud still, I see,' the barman's rough voice replied, pulling a pint as he spoke.

His seemed velvet in comparison. 'Still trying, still trying.'

'Ah, we're past that now, son. You've released an album, haven't you? This is only the beginning, boy.'

I could sense some deep family connection here, and I felt rude for even over-hearing it. But I couldn't help but be captivated by the lull of his voice, reasoning that that wasn't actually eavesdropping if I just listened to the smoothness of his speech.

The conversation finished eventually, and I was left with the chattering of people whose names I did not know for company. And it was oddly comforting, knowing all these people lead perfectly clear lives, while I felt like I was walking through thick fog, never knowing what's ahead.

And there he sat, a seat away, the reason I come here at all.

'Excuse me, could you pass me a coaster?' a voice asked. It took several long seconds for me to realize he was talking to me. I blushed at my own stupidity, picking one up to pass to him.

'It really was a good show,' I suddenly blurted out while handing it to him. To me, it sounded like another person had said it.

'Sorry?' he asked, and I realized yes, I had actually spoke those words aloud.

'Er, your show. It was... really good,' I mumbled uncertainly. My usual confidence seemed to have up and left me.

'Thanks. I think I've seen you here before... But I don't know your name,' he admitted.

I wish you wouldn't look so embarassed, although the red is endearing on your cheeks. I've seen you here before too.

'Elizabeth,' I told him, making no attempt to smile. I was trying to avoid looking at his eyes, and he would think I was crazy if I smiled at the bar counter.

'Paolo.'

'I know,' I replied automatically, mentally slapping myself. 'I mean, I've heard your music.'

I instinctively glanced up. He was grinning at my embarrassment, the grin I melted at before.

I blushed. All my emotions were linked to my cheeks. Including lust, and infatuation. Because that's all this is. Infatuation. Lust. My eyes were locked on his, I couldn't seem to look away.

'Elizabeth, can I ask you something?' he said, in that thick accent again. I couldn't understand how it made such an impact on me.

'You didn't really give me a choice,' I replied, but smiling at him so he knew I was joking. He laughed and I took this chance to pull my eyes away from his. Even in the face of a gorgeous boy, I couldn't control my sarcastic comments. I just can't help it.

But I knew it was a mistake to look at him again. His misty blue eyes held mine, now watching me with a look that could cause some serious brain damage. I got lost for a while, and then noticed he was speaking to me again. Except I wasn't listening to him, so it was more like speaking at me.

'Sorry?' I looked down, trying remember how to breathe.

'You're here every night, but you don't seem to know anybody, and nobody knows you... If you don't mind me asking, why do you come here?' he said shyly.

'Well, I'm afraid that's a secret... I can tell you one thing though.'

'What?'

'I'm not here every night,' I whispered, looking back at him.

He frowned, thinking about it. He most likely won't figure it out. Until I'm gone, at least. But I couldn't resist telling him, even if he didn't understand what I was trying to say.

'Paolo,' I muttered, musing.

He was still frowning when he looked up. 'Yes?' His face softened, eyes expectant.

'Why do you come here?'

A smirk pulled at the corners of his mouth.

'Secret?' I guessed.

'Sure. I'll tell you one thing though,' he told me, still smirking.

He leaned in slightly over the seat between us, so close I could smell the sweet scent that enviated from him.

'I don't come here every night either,' he whispered, winking at me.

I realized I must have missed the flash of intuition in his eyes while I was restraining myself from looking at him. He had understood what I meant.

He smoothly slid to the stool next to mine, locking my gaze again.

This is killing me.