Happy Valentine's Day! This is gonna be another new story, but just a collection of drabbles. So I'll upload a couple today and then you can expect them fairly infrequently from then on :D
Oh, and it's my first Belldom!
Matthew pulled out his acoustic guitar and quickly plucked the strings, fiddling with the tuning keys. Drop D. He'd had a melody in his mind for days, and it was finally time to let it out. He sat down on the bed and rested the guitar on his thighs, one hand holding the top of the neck, fingers wrapped around the fretboard, the other gently strumming the strings over the sound hole. The guitar was made of simple beechwood, but it was quite thick. He loved the sound it made, rich and full of life.
He placed his fingers in the right position and began to pick out a song. Slowly, he began making adjustments, until all the sounds were perfect, all the notes made sense. It was a whole different language to Matthew, one he hoped to become fluent in. Music was his way of letting go, his way of controlling his emotions and letting them out, a channel for his inner self. As his fingers absentmindedly twisted the melody, he began thinking of lyrics that would match the song. It would probably be a soft song, possibly a love song, although maybe he'd change it up. They were a rock band, after all. He considered adding a simple drum beat in the background, one with lots of hi-hat and a bit of snare. It wasn't really his area of expertise, the drums, but he knew enough from all the recording sessions to get the general gist.
He rubbed the back of his neck before quickly practising the songs he'd been playing for nearly twenty years. It had been twenty years since he'd first picked up a guitar and began to play. How far he'd come. They'd gone from being a small town band making a racket to some of the biggest stadium rockers of the twenty-first century. They could make history if they wanted to.
He sometimes got in these moods, when he'd suddenly remember something that happened back in Teignmouth. He wondered if fame had changed him at all. The people he used to know said it had and, yes, he could see their point. Nobody normal would wear strange glitter suits. Nobody else would be able to afford to smash their £4000 guitar at least once a week. But the general essence of Matthew-was that still there? Was he the same boy he'd been? He hoped so.
Dom observed him quietly from the doorway, one arm resting gently on the guitar, his sharp blue eyes staring off into space, his small lips relaxed. His contemplating face. Dom admired how intelligent Matthew was. Not just in the subjects he enjoyed and knew plenty of facts about, such as music or conspiracy theories, but the way he acted about life generally. The way he thought things through. Even when he rambled on whilst talking until he'd gone off on a tangent, he always seemed to understand what he was talking about. He wondered what it must be like to have an active mind like that.
Dom enjoyed watching Matthew in these moments. He'd watched over the years, from the skinny little fifteen-year-old dreaming about revenge, to the blue haired man attempting to create a new album, to the worshipped-by-fans thirty-three year old lost in his own thoughts. Sometimes it felt like prying, but Dom never really worried about that. They shared everything. Besides, these were the moments when Matt was most natural. Although Matthew himself thought he was most himself when on stage, Dom knew that the glitter suit showman wasn't really him. The Matthew he remembered from school was small and timid but with a big voice and a great mind. He was capable of wonderful things, and these were the moments when he showed it.
Matthew blinked slowly and the presence of somebody standing in the doorway registered in his mind. He turned towards Dom and smiled at the golden angel standing there waiting for him. He patted the bed beside him and resumed playing, Dom carefully sitting down. The bed dipped under his weight and Matt felt his lips curl up at the edge.
"What's this?" Dom asked quietly as Matt played the new song, perfect now. The melodies wound around, interlocking with each other and drifting around the room, bouncing off the walls and reverberating in the corners. Matt turned towards him, fingers automatically finding their positions after years of practise.
"Your song."
