A/N: Soooooo... I had fun writing this even though it is... this. :P This is my pathetic attempt at a Valentine's Day fic and I profusely apologize for it- though I will admit, yet again, that I had an unreasonable amount of fun writing it. ^^ This is based off of Jay May's song Grey or Blue PLEASE listen to it before/after/during reading. It might be a particularly good idea this time seeing as how instead of writing Marcus' lyrics all on my own I kinda stole half of hers. Oops. :P ANYways... Don't hate me for this, but please lemme know what you thought! :D Also! My Valentine's requests are still open- as long as you get them in before the actual day. ^^
Marcus watches- the graceful sweep of his hands as they try to express, the sway of his body in the emotion of it all, the pull of his lips as everything hits home in the minds of his audience. His eyes constantly switch between grey and blue, but Marcus has never actually been able to get close enough to tell which is the truer shade. He's been watching the boy in the cardigan for months now- the two of them always showing up for the open mic night at the local café. It almost always rains and as such Marcus has yet to arrive without a knit cap pulled low over his ears- it makes him feel like a tool. All the same he leaves it on and moves towards the stage, away from the damp atmosphere closer to the door and tries to shoulder his way through the crowd without violent bashing them with his guitar case.
He cups his hands and tries to heat them with his breath as he awaits the usual spiced latte he orders to arrive. It's quite a struggle to tear his eyes from the boy that has him so enamored, but he still keeps an ear out for the now familiar lyrics that slide over his skin in the lilt of his accent. The boy's name is Esca- wild, fierce, mysterious, fitting- and Marcus could drown in the sound of his voice, the mellow melodies he composes, the wistful words that soak into his skin deeper than the rain. He's your typical indie one-man-band that's just this side of hipster and Marcus thinks that if he had just an ounce more courage he would kneel at the steps of the stage and propose to the bespectacled songwriter right then and there.
Except- they've never actually talked. Not officially anyway. Marcus likes to think- to delude himself into thinking- that they speak to each other through their music. He pretends that each song is a conscious decision, a story to tell, a feeling to express, a question to pose, an answer to reply. And for him it is. Each week he sings to Esca for Esca. He doesn't know if the boy is listening, but Marcus will sing himself hoarse trying.
"Shit. Goddamn shit. Shit goddamn." Marcus cannot believe this is happening. Now of all times why would this happen to him? Oh, right because his life is shit. Goddamn shit. His guitar was just there five seconds ago. Who the hell steals a badly worn guitar from a whole in the wall deli? He slumps down into his seat and buries his face in his hands. It's the day before Valentine's. The day before he premiers his first completely original song. The day before he sings the song he wrote about Esca. The day that it was all supposed to change. And now what is he supposed to do?
He had long been writing of Esca, of his love from a distance, of the relationship they might have, but never in earnest, not until now. Then he had had the glorious idea to lay it all down- show his cards, bare himself to the world, after all wasn't that what this was all for? Finally Esca would look and see him back. He had convinced himself that this was it- this was his stroke of destiny. But now it had all fallen to pieces at the last possible moment. For the first time in a long time the rain outside actually seems sad and Marcus stares with dead eyes out the window- remembering the shape of his hands and wondering how they feel, remembering the shape of his lips and wondering how they'd taste, remembering the shape of his eyes and still wondering if they are grey or blue. Goddamn shit.
This is a bad idea. This is a really bad idea. This is a really, monumentally bad idea. Yet, here Marcus stands, in the middle of the holiday crowd. On stage. With a xylophone. He looks out at the crowd, his ears burning beneath his ever present knit cap and a lump forming in the back of his throat. Dozens of faces are staring at him expectantly and he can hear himself stuttering into the microphone. A nervous sweat starts to break out across his forehead and he hollowly laughs at the thought that he is finally just now experiencing stage fright. He had never understood it before. But, oh lord, does he understand it now. He searches out Esca in the intimidating throng of unfamiliar features, but when he spots the fellow musician, his eyes dart quickly away and 'Fuck- that cannot be a good sign'.
Suddenly he can't quite remember the logic that got him here in the first place. He had just returned to his apartment really depressed- so defeated after being so sure that he was just on the cusp of something wonderful… And then there it was- the xylophone that had been given to him as a gag gift when he first came here to pursue a musical career. He'd spent the whole night transposing his song the best he could, manically trying to make it work on the child's toy that used to seem so simple. He blamed his sleep depraved mind for actually forcing him to go through with it all. After all, who else but a clinically insane person would try to woo the potential love of their live with a xylophone? In public? On Valentine's day?
Marcus takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. This wasn't supposed to happen like this, it was supposed to be easy when it destiny was involved wasn't it? He let everything fall away and tried to remember what got him here- what made Esca so special in the first place. He remembered the way the other boy seemed to speak to facets of his soul not even Marcus knew existed, how Tuesdays had become the highlight of his week just because he got to see this stranger who somehow knew him. He remembered the promise of tomorrow and suddenly it all crystalized. Opening his eyes once again, he cleared his throat, poised his mallets, and breathed.
"This city is for strangers
Like the sky is for the stars,
Like you were meant for me-
Esca"
The sound of his name draws his unrelenting attention and Marcus sings while gazing into those beautifully besotted grey eyes