Star Crossed

I knew I loved him from the start.

I remembered the first time I had laid eyes on him like were happening that very minute: he strolled into Matt's garage as if he owned the place, guitar slung over his shoulder, dark-tinted sunglasses on his face the way all the rockstars wore them. He wasn't wearing a shirt - better to show off his toned, sun-kissed abs for all the world to see. I remembered the moment better than anybody, because it was the first time in my life that I really understood what people meant by breathtaking beauty; my heart stopped, and everything around me ceased to exist. Everything except him, that is. He was a shining beacon of magnificence in my world of dreary dullness.

Even then he had it all. His father had a well-paying career, which meant their family had enough money to last a lifetime or two. Despite this, looks alone were enough to make him the centre of every girl's attention. He had all the friends that he could ever need; I was flattered to learn that he counted me amongst the greatest of all those he considered true friends, and it was this knowledge which kept me from admitting my true feelings for him. Having him as a friend was much better than not having him at all. I would wait until the time was right.

I've been waiting now for more than ten years.

We've all changed in that time, but some things will always remain the same. He's still as beautiful as ever, if not more so. Especially now, standing centre-stage in this huge arena. The spot-lights tint him all different shades of cerulean and violet - a brilliant combination of his favourite colours. Every fan in the building is cheering him on, transfixed by the solo he's playing just for them. His right hand moves at the speed of light as he picks his way along. The fluid movements of his left hand along the neck of the guitar are enough to send chills down my spine. My heart beats faster than the steady drum-beat Jimmy has going as a backbone for the solo.

A hand pats my shoulder, a comforting gesture from the only person in the world who knows how I truly feel. I smile a thank you at Johnny, who nods in response before motioning that we're due to head back out on stage. I grab my guitar and pull the strap over my shoulder, preparing myself for what is inevitably about to come.

You'd think that after doing this for ten years I'd be used to having to stand so close to the man of my dreams, but it never gets any easier. Every time our backs meet and our arms touch there's a chance that I'll forget where I am and what exactly it is that I'm supposed to be doing. It's a risk I chose to live with, though, because I couldn't imagine giving up either of the things I love most. The solo ends. A gentle nudge from Johnny reminds me that I'm supposed to be walking back out onto the stage; Matt does the same from stage left.

I join Brian at the centre; one foot goes up on the amp in front of us out of habit, though I have to focus intently on keeping my hands glued to my instrument. He's too busy playing to notice, as always. I've never been able to decide whether this is a good thing or a bad thing. Not that I ever gave myself enough time to dwell on it - I was too busy making sure I hit the right chords and kept in time with the rest of the guys. The fear of disappointing an entire arena full of dedicated fans was one of the few things that could keep me grounded.

I know what you're thinking: I'm a fool to be keeping such a secret. I need to tell him before it's too late. But you know what? We're young, we're fit, and we've got all the time in the world to do all the things we want to and say all the things that need to be said. So don't push me. I'll get around to it eventually. When the time is right.

If it ever is.