I'm Half-Doomed and You're Semi-Sweet

Kira showered after her training session with Andy and Joe.

Andy had been taking it easy on her, but ever since Joe got back on his feet, he’d been eager to get right back in on the action. Both their sessions combined always left her exhausted and sore.

She changed into fresh clothes, noting the time was drawing closer and closer to dawn and the warehouse was falling silent. Everyone had gone to sleep by now.

As she was about to go to sleep as well, a vague, deep rumbling noise caught her attention.

She exited the room, following the low tones up the stairs and past the training room and up another creaky staircase to an attic.

She quietly pushed the door open.

His back was to her as he sat on a large amplifier, head bowed in order to concentrate on the notes being plucked on his bass guitar.

She watched but mostly listened, losing track of the time all the while.

She eventually realized this and turned to go, attempting to make the least amount of noise possible so he wouldn’t know she’d been watching.

“You don’t have to go,” he said suddenly, as she had placed her hand on the doorknob. She whipped back around in surprise.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…to interrupt. I heard noise, so-” she tried to apologize for her spying.

“It’s okay,” he assured her, finally turning around.

“You’re…you sounded really good,” she offered lamely. He gave a short laugh.

“Yeah, well that’s what all these sleepless nights will get you. I should say, sleepless days,” he rolled his eyes. She took the liberty of sitting next to him and listening to him randomly strumming various bass lines.

“I used to play,” she stated, a few minutes later. In seconds, he slid the strap of his shoulder and held out his guitar to her expectantly.

“Play for me.”

“It’s been awhile,” she added defensively, to which he laughed slightly. She took it from his hands anyway, beginning to play whatever her fingers chose to. His lips curled into a smile as he listened.

“Don’t laugh at me!” she told him, noticing his smile.

“I’m not,” he insisted. “I just haven’t heard anyone else play in such a long time,” he nodded in the opposite direction. She then noticed the variation of instruments scattered throughout the attic, all dusty and worn out.

“Whose are they?” she asked, setting Pete’s bass aside and walking over to a drum set and running her finger along the rim of a cymbal. Dust particles detached themselves at her touch.

“Those are Andy’s,” he replied. “And over there are Joe and Patrick’s old guitars.”

“I never would have guessed,” she admitted, sitting back down next to him.

“We used to be pretty good together,” he informed her. “It’s been such a long time; I’m not sure how we’d sound now.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes.

She turned to study him, her gaze making him more uncomfortable by the second.

This was weird, and it was about to get weirder.

Their lips met innocently enough, at first.

Their relationship was delving farther and farther into a gray area as his rough lips touched hers, cold skin to warm.