Quiet Days

He had his foot propped up on the railing of the balcony to his hotel room, his body positioned comfortably so he could overlook the bay that faded into an ocean that was a beautiful cerulean blue. His left hand was gingerly holding the neck of his guitar, his fingers resting over the strings in a relaxed position that had no true intention of a note, and his other hand drumming on his knee.
Christofer Drew was a calm soul, and he adored days as quiet as these.
His place on the balcony was directly across from the door that led into the hallway, which was wide open, allowing the air to circulate completely and settle a comfortable salty aroma on the room, as well as a breezy feel.
His tongue was playing with the ends of the studs embedded into his bottom lip, swirling over the metal and flicking it every so often.
He was working on a new song, something he did whenever he needed to calm himself before a performance. It was a major tour; there was no time for screw-ups or nervousness. Just play and play right, and then get the hell out of there before you can fall flat on your face.
His nerves were somewhat frazzled, but he would not allow his outer exterior to show that. He was known for his laid-back attitude, not the underlying worrier that plagued him before every performance.
It was then he heard rustling and the sound of a deep sigh from an unknown direction. He lifted his head, glancing around the balcony to those of his neighbors, but saw no one. He then turned around, gaze moving to the open hotel door in time to see a somewhat tall figure pass by the door.
The mysterious person glanced inside, meeting his stare with one that was a dark, smoldering, unnatural grey color that nearly left Christofer breathless. His lips parted, his hand unconsciously tightening around the neck of his guitar. The person merely smiled a grin that showed bright teeth and a dark ring pierced into his lip.
…Dark hair, pale complexion, white clothing head to toe, a dark rosary hanging around his neck that was like a dark stain on his chest. A lopsided grin was on his lips, his eyes brimmed with thick black liner, spiked at the corners, a dark stitched line on the corner of his lip, digging into his cheek to nearly his ear…
Christofer contemplated whether or not he should wave, but the stranger beat him to a greeting as he nodded to him in acknowledgement. He could have sworn his breath caught in his throat.
And with that the person turned their head and continued down the hallway to what he assumed was their room. Christofer was winded, obviously flustered as he averted his gaze from the door to the view of the ocean once again. For a split second, he hoped he would see the mysterious person again.
*
It was only a day later when Christofer saw the mysterious boy--man?--again. He was in the same position, foot propped on the railing to his balcony, guitar in his hands and fingers strumming over notes. He had his mouth sucking on the corner where the studs of his piercings were embedded, and once again he had the jumbled notes of a would-be song running through his mind.
He heard a deep exhale, and immediately his head moved to the door, a small hope rising in his chest. There, passing through once again, clad in a outfit made of pure black that made the ashen shade of his skin more prominent, was the mysterious person. He turned to Chris once again and smirked, waving a small hand before continuing his trek to his hotel room.
Chris rested a hand over his chest.
He had just found his first boy crush.
*
It was the third day into his stay, and Christofer was sprawled out on the white hotel carpet, staring up at the popcorn ceiling of the same shade. Once again, both the siding glass down and front door were open, sweeping a pleasant breeze over his body. With a sigh, he rolled onto his back, glancing at the door only to find someone leaning against the frame with a smirk on their face.
He jolted, rooted in place as the boy--the same boy from the first two days--invited himself into the apartment and seated himself beside Chris and propping an arm beside him, leaning over him.
He had two piercings in, two small, silver studs imbedded into each hole. His eye lids had a minute lining to them, a dark shade that contrasted against his skin.
“Whatcha doin’?” he asked, staring down at him with a smirk on his lips.
No stitch-like makeup today.
Chris was speechless, this was the person he had been seeing cross the door to his room the passed few days? This was the person that was shrouded in such mystery, as if wearing a veil? His heart thrummed in his chest and he quietly mumbled, “Nothing…”
“I can see that,” the boy laughed, grinning down at him.
After only a silent second, Chris hesitatingly said, “Wanna join me?”
“Sure,” he simply replied, shifting only slightly but making no move to sit straight. He was still hunched over Christofer, staring down at him with a slight curiosity. “You play the guitar?” he finally whispered, grin fading into a small smile.
Chris’ heart stuttered in his chest. The mysterious boy’s eyes were a dark blue-gray, a color that made the irises much more vast than they were in reality. He could see the outline of eye contacts, and he wish he knew the boy’s true eye color. “Y-yeah.”
“That’s cool,” the boy whispered. “I can only sing.”
“Singing’s good.”
The boy cracked a wide smile and leaned a bit further down. “You’re gonna have to teach me to play guitar.”
Unfortunately, he never got his name.
*
The fourth day into his stay, Christofer was once again sitting on his balcony, ukulele in his hands, fingers threaded through his hair, watching the midday sun gleam over the ever-moving waves. He shifted in the seat he was in, an uncomfortable elevated chair that was nearly as tall as the railing.
He strummed a few notes, sang a few, simple words, but he had no inspiration. It was then he heard the distinct sound of a sliding glass door moving in its track and smacking hard against its frame. Chris did not bother turning his head, it was most likely a snow bird.
“Hey.”
That didn’t sound like an aging old woman that played poker and bingo every night and carried around a fanny pack…
Slowly he turned his head, and immediately his breath caught in his throat. There, standing in the balcony beside his was the mysterious person. Today he was wearing simple denim skinny jeans and a v-neck black shirt, similar to the one he had worn a few days before, but this shirt had a butterfly-like design emblazoned across the chest. The boy had a pair of sunglasses over his eyes, a smirk on his lips, as he casually leaned against the railing.
“Hey…”
The boy had both piercings in his bottom lip, two silver rings that reflected the light that hit them. He pulled off his glasses and locked eyes with Chris, the smirk on his mouth only growing wider. “I’m Andy, you?”
Chris was getting slightly flustered locking eyes with the somewhat stranger, so he averted his gaze to the strings of his guitar. “Chris.”
His eyes were a shade of steely-blue that was only muffled by the colored contacts he had been previously wearing.
“Well, Chris,” Andy hummed, leaning a bit farther over the railing, “you sound like a singer-songwriter.”
Christofer quickly nodded and went to tuning his guitar, an attempt to keep his fingers and eyes busy, too nervous to make eye contact with the boy once again. “You could say that.”
“It’s nice to see someone that’s around my age, everyone around here’s a senior citizen, if you don’t count my band.”
Chris’ ears perked and he lifted his eyes to Andy’s. “You’re in a band?”
Andy grinned. “Yeah, we just got finished filming our first music video.”
Oh, wow. “Name?”
Andy’s eyes seemed to twinkle a bit. “Black Veil Brides.”
Chris smirked. “Nice name.”
“Hey, I hear your sarcasm.”
“Nuh-uh. I’m being completely sincere.”
“Sure…” Andy rolled his eyes.
Chris smiled, but then glanced to the setting sun in the west, dipping just below the horizon, where the waves were gently lapping at the star. He turned back to Andy. “You know the time?”
“Six o’clock, why?”
“I have a gig in an hour.”
*
It was pretty late when he arrived back at the hotel, already half-passed eleven, possibly midnight, even. He was hauling both his guitar and ukulele in their separate cases, one in each hand, feeling obviously imbalanced. When he finally reached his floor--the sixth--it was deathly silent, and he was afraid to wake anyone as he struggled to fit through the elevator doors. His band mates had already gone to their rooms fifteen minutes before, but he had taken his time outside, admiring the stars.
He struggled through the hallway, angling his cases so he would fit through it without any possible way of hitting the walls or doors. However, when he stopped before his room, fumbling his pockets for his card, he made the mistake of dropping his ukulele case.
His heart dropped as he grit his teeth, glancing around the deserted hallway. He then heard a door open, and his head whipped to his right, watching as Andy poked his head out and into the hall. He seemed somewhat surprised, but when he noticed the noise had come from Chris, his lids fell to a much more normal width. “You didn’t tell me you were in a band,” he whispered, careful not to wake any senior citizens.
Chris finally found his cardkey and held it triumphantly in the air before sliding it into the slot. “You never asked,” he mumbled, waiting a patient second for the light to turn green.
“I should’ve. I would like to see you live.”
Chris only shot him a small, sad smile before he disappeared into his hotel room.
*
The sun was barely breaking the horizon when Christofer walked through his hotel door, suitcase and guitar and ukulele cases in hand. He bumped against the wall of his neighbor and silently cursed as he set his guitar and ukulele case down, afraid of repeating the night before.
After a few silent seconds, the door opened, and Andy once again poked his head out. Christofer watched as the singer rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, taking in the sight of him with his things in tow. “Well, now that you’ve done your concert, you’re just gonna leave?” he whispered. “Just like that?”
Chris turned to him, heart fluttering slightly in his chest. “Y-yeah.”
Andy frowned slightly and stepped out of his doorway. Stepping over Chris’ abandoned ukulele case, he faced the brunet. “I thought we’d be able to get to know each other more.”
Chris couldn’t help the way his cheeks burned at the statement. “S-sorry.”
Abruptly, Andy stepped forward, capturing his lips in a chaste kiss. Pulling away, he whispered against his mouth, “What’s the name?”
Chris’ heart thumped erratically, causing blood to rush to his ears. “N-NeverShoutNever!…”
Andy smirked down at him. “Maybe we’ll tour together one day.”
Chris could only nod before his lips were captured once again.
*
In only two years, Christofer’s life had drastically changed.
His band had lost members, gained members, even gone through a few name changes. Sure, the people technically weren’t in the band, he himself was a one-man band, but it still hurt to think of the people he had toured with who had left for their own reasons.
He was two years wiser, not as foolish as he was as a teenager. He had matured, and now he had finally gotten ink on his body. Nice little sayings like ‘Love is my Weapon’ across his chest, ‘Live Free’ across his knuckles, and the like. Every morning he would wake he would admire the permanent art that littered his body.
He had cut his hair into a style that framed his face nicely, one that showed off the gauges in his ears. He looked very different, and, as he read the list of bands that would perform and tour in the Warped Tour, he vaguely wondered if he would remember him, even recognize him.
He felt foolish for waiting, for holding onto hope that he would see the boy that had passed by the door of his hotel room everyday all those years ago. He sighed and propped his feet onto the railing of the balcony attached to his hotel. It was a nice hotel, definitely nicer than the motels he usually stayed at, even his own tour bus. He only had a few nights here, and it seemed pointless for it, but he welcomed the nice room, bed, and view.
Much nicer than the view from the hotel he had stayed at two years ago, but then again, it was a different city in California. He turned his head and stared at the balcony beside his with a pang in his chest.
However, there stayed an old woman that day in and out, sat on a director’s styled chair and watched the sea longingly as she sipped lemonade. She wore a sun hat that overshadowed her face and glasses that made her eyes look larger than they naturally did. She would tell him stories of the husband she had once had, the husband that died for America, the husband she could never bear to replace.
He had introduced himself when he had seen her, and she had whispered for him to play a song for her with a small twinkle in her eyes. One that reminded him so much of the neighbor he had had so many years before. In a heartbeat he had done so, she reminded him so much of his grandmother. She even treated the sight of his tattoos like she had, with slight curiosity and horror.
She was sweet, but not who he wanted it to be.
He strummed a few notes on his guitar, humming the tune of the song he was going to play for the tour that week. The old woman had long since gone into her hotel room, leaving him in silence.
Silence he longed would be interrupted by the same deep sigh he had heard years ago.
But, of course, it did not come.
*
His nerves were frazzled, and he was panting hard, but he could say that he had just had the best performance of his life. Not only had the majority of the crowd sang along, but they gave his such a positive greeting, it made his heart swell. As he jogged offstage, he collided with someone, and as he stumbled backwards, he was not prepared for the impact to reach his heart.
He was speechless. His lips could not form a single word.
Come on, Chris, his mind told him, he was on the same tour, you should have expected it.
“Sorry,” the person laughed, only to have the sound cut short.
Chris stared at Andy, eyes wide and lips parted.
He seemed to have changed, too.
*
Christofer was pushed against the door to his hotel room, shutting it for the first time since he had settled in. Immediately, Andy moved his mouth to his, pressing their lips together harshly.
Fuck getting to know each other.
**