Dedication: I do believe that we all owe Jackie is Grey a loud round of applause for leaving an extremely sweet review and helping me get off my lazy behind in order to write the chapter. Thank you sweetheart, you sort of made my whole life better :)
Disclaimer: I cannot express to you exactly how much I hate putting disclaimers at the top of every. single. chapter. Sorry folks, I don't own anything Austin & Ally related because if I did you would all be mentally scarred from all the steamy sex they would have had by now. sorrynotsorry.
Inspiration: kiddies, if you have lots of emotional turmoil, you can write it out in any way, shape, or form. Trust me.
A/N: I'm sorry for the wait, but this chapter was a bit of a filler and decently hard to find a feasible idea for. I wound up not hating it as much as I had expected too, which I suppose is good. So I hope you can choke through it and leave a review filled with some of your wonderful thoughts :)
The very next day her eyes catch the flashing colors of his golden crowning hair as he marches slowly into the store, a rainbow being thrown from his scalp underneath the heavy sunlight cascading in through the windows. His attention is diverted faithfully to his phone and she focuses her concentration back to counting out the pennies in the cash register.
He throws himself on the counter, tossing his legs over the side so he faces her form and she smiles towards him as he greets her.
"Wasn't expecting you today," she says honestly as she closes the money tray, eyes skating towards the entrance as more midday customers make their way inside.
"Dez told me that he and Trish would be stopping by, so I figured why not," he answers with a shrug as he forcefully pushes himself off of his resting place and directly adjacent to her, breathing over her shoulder with their lacking personal space evident but not found significant, as if it were an occurrence that had no reason to draw uncomfortable tensions.
Her father makes his descent down the stairs and pats her on the shoulder gratefully as he talks of allowing her to take a well deserved break, and he makes an over dramatic glance heeded in Austin's direction. She introduces him with clumsy words fumbled through a blushed face, not completely sure how to go about labeling him so she leaves it simply with his name.
She gives him a short tour of the downstairs of the store, not knowing how to make eye contact with him after the night before—last night with the dancing and the delusions and she sort of realized that she isn't following her rules about being cautious around this cutie.
He plucks a flute off the wall and whistles into it, a pitch or two high as he begins to fiddle out a melody similar to Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. She teasingly grasps it from his hand and places it beneath her own lower lip, slowing the tempo moderately as she drops an octave and every note comes out clear and pristine compared to his rushed masterpiece. She wonders if they could silently banter back and forth in these ways for the rest of the day, challenging each other with their talents over band instruments: she thinks it might crack her top ten desired ways to spend time with a boy, music being something Elliot wouldn't have understood.
She blinks and then they appear to be having a battle of string, bows being tossed in the air as he fluently moves across the strings of his cello, her fragile fingers dancing upon her viola as their concert pieces clash against one another in combat. His head tosses back in laughter because he can't remember when he was being intimidated or threatened in a musical sense.
He pauses to watch her in fascination, her hands working at an unbeatable pace as they sketch out an original pattern, turning heads as she stomps on her very own downbeat and he believes that this country galore she has cooking up could make even him square dance.
She stops at once as soon as she hears an onlooker emit a clap, graciously bowing before placing the product back upon the shelf docilely, her face twisted towards him in a smirk that whispered to him, "I won." He makes no retaliation because he's a talented virtuoso, there's no doubt about that, but she's pure brilliance that has most likely been training since her diaper days.
He keeps peering back to the door, wondering where Dez might be, and moments later his phone buzzes with a notification and it reads that his red headed friend and Trish are making a last minute switch to the beach for some couple time, rather than more time spent as foursome. He lets a ruffled sigh because he feels as if his day has been officially wasted, but then his head tilts up and she sits tentatively smiling, holding her phone to show a similar message from Trish. He gives a slight shrug and realizes he can't be mad at Dez because he still has Ally here, after all.
Lester takes her shift for the rest of the day in an agreement that she picks up an extra tomorrow, and before an eyebrow flicks itself further up his forehead in inquiry she wraps her lithe fingers around his wrist and begins to thrust him forcefully to the upper levels of the store.
He enters her private quarters for the second time in his entire life and for the very first time he sees how he himself could waste hours away in here, what with the wide open windows that stretch to the ceiling and gift the spacious area with fresh bundles of the Miami air, the plush chairs that invite you to fall directly into them and lose yourself, and not to mention the plethora of producing equipment and instruments that line almost every inch available. He turns to see her sitting in front of a recording station, reprogramming some of the demo options and he wonders if she finds herself in the same position every day. He can easily imagine that she does, and he believes that the same would happen to him.
"Might as well have some fun, right?" She says from underneath her eyelashes and for some reason he laughs lightly. She looks so earnest and like she has decently high expectation of him and their afternoon alone together, and he hopes that it'll be everything that he wants it to be as well.
Next she scurries quickly over to her piano and flings open the bench, sheet music piled neatly in rows and she nimbly fingers past page after page, he face contorting with a new emotion each time she scans over pieces. He joins her slowly and reaches a hand to examine one that had caught his eye closer, but she smacks it away and looks back to him extremely shocked.
"Don't touch my music," she snarls out harshly and her eyes ooze with a fiery passion and not to mention an undeniable amount of venom, so he puts his hands up in a surrendering manner before cautiously backing away and mumbling out an exuberant amount of apologies.
She also turns past pages in a darkened and worn leather bound book, flipping fast and he can make out intricate doodles as well as jumbled words and assumes that this must be somewhat similar to a diary. He makes a mental note that it is probably not okay to touch this either.
Her hair makes a sudden flip and he admires how chaotic the curls look, monstrous around her face with gentle cascades as she turns to face him, holding her hand out with an increasingly tight grip around a sheet torn from her journal. Her mouth sits in a taut lipped grin, eyes hesitant with innocence and he wonders if he is the very first person to ever be handed her original music. He reaches a halting hand out and snatches it from her own grasp sluggishly, afraid that she'll make a spasmodic move and steal the song back.
She's doesn't however, just broadens her eyes with concern as she peers over at his expression, waiting for his reaction. Her reads through it at least five times just to make sure he's fully consuming every last note, to make sure that it really it as amazing as it was the first time he glanced at it.
He fixes his gaze back to hers and as his mouth falls ever so slightly ajar she begins to hop from one foot to another in an anxious dance. Her teeth bite down roughly onto her lower lip and she loses eye contact with him.
"What do you think?" She asks in the smallest tone he's ever heard and realizes this must be her one and only insecurity.
He looks back down at the paper held tightly in his hands and the to her once more, seeing her truly vulnerable for the first time and he has a hard time resisting the thought that she is pretty adorable with one wide eyes and pouted lips.
"I think that you need to be produced," he says with an impressed guffaw slipping out halfway through his statement. He pushes past her to sit upon the bench and begins to find the piano chords she has traced out. "Is this the acoustic version?" He asks as he looks back to her, noticing the breath of relief that passed out of her inflated form and the less rigid stance of her legs.
She slides easily into the remaining space next to him and opens her journal to a page with a similar layout, a faster tempo and a section written specifically for an electric guitar as well as a bass. "Uh, yeah. I like the key that one is in more."
Her hand floats up next to his and plays through the bridge, a melody and he runs his along next to her, completing the chords and they keep their eyes locked tightly to each others. His mouth falls open and begins to sing the lower harmony right as her voice swells with the high soprano section, their tones mixing and melting together unintentionally with ease.
Their pinkies unmeaningly bump on the very last note of the entire song and he loops them together as if they were making a promise. Then she's looking at him underneath those long, curly lashes again with that same look of vulnerability and it takes all he has in him to not stare for too long of a time. He makes no move to untangle their pinkies and for a split second he considers tethering the rest of their fingers, but she has a present blush on her face and decides it'd be best if he kept this modest and patient. He can't ignore that there is a this, though: there is this thing called fate after all, and he's never been one to hide from it.
"Do you want to write with me?" She asks as her hands slowly materialize over the keys once more, pressing in the most outright and outrageous places that mesh together even though he never would have purposed that they would blend nicely in unison.
"Please?" He breathes out as if she was kidding, him seeing this as a privilege. She giggles and her blush increases, her entire face caught in crimson.
"I have this melody sticking my head," she says with a tentative tone, beginning to switch into a different time signature. "Right now it's just stuck, but maybe you could help me with it."
She keeps progressing so he figures that it's a bit more than something she simply has repeating in her mind, and he starts to clap out a beat because he finds that it feels necessary. She turns and smiles at him, nodding as if she approves and then he realizes that he wouldn't mind if this is how he spent every day for the rest of his life.
He fixes the rough patches that don't match the tempo and she stays silent while continuously nodding, so he assumes that she agrees with the changes he's making and leaves it at that. She tosses most of the song lyrics around but he gives her insight on the meaning behind the entire song, explaining in moderate detail of a guy's perspective and what some of the content should consist of. She keeps smiling wide with all of her teeth as if she loves all his ideas and fills with an arrogant pride.
They strain for at least an hour, but they have the second verse finished and an enormous list of possibilities for the chorus, so they take their lunch break without shame or procrastination present. He walks with his hand on the small of her back all the way to the food court, but for some reason he feels as if it has been glued there and makes no move to remove it: she doesn't either, for the record.
He buys her a strawberry and banana smoothie that she sips happily at, throwing shy smiles towards him every time their eyes come in contact. They both pick slowly away at his chips and salsa and they focus on learning more about one another.
"That's not possible," she says overly loud after a long wrack of laughter, "there is no way in the world that you don't go to the gym and still have muscles like that."
"It's true though! I mean, sure, I do pushups and sit ups around the house, but I'm not a member or randomly go to a gym, like, ever." He ducks his head sheepishly as laughter falls loosely from his lips, an effortless grin ensnaring both their lips.
"Austin, you don't get a six pack from only ever doing sit ups," she defends and begins to giggle once more as his ears darken to a shockingly scarlet shade.
"How'd you even know I have a six pack?" He says unevenly due to his ongoing guffaw and her lips twitch into a smirk, contrary to his expectation of her becoming flustered. Then again, he has to remember that this seemingly innocent girl still stuffs herself into dresses that seem sewn onto her skin and probably parties more often than he does—which is really saying something—considering how confidently she struts around in her skyscraper heels.
"You're not a very big fan of personal space, Austin," she tells him casually but her eyes are doing this seductive slight squint and he suddenly is holding his breath, "you've pressed your body against mine more times than my ex ever did."
Her smirk skits further up her face as the blush falls from his ears to his cheeks, becoming overly aware of the fact that it's really, really hot outside, or maybe it really is just her. He reminds himself not to lose his cool and realizes passively that she's the only girl that has ever made him feel so incredibly breathless, whether it be in awe or desire.
He takes a split second to collect himself, clearing his throat and mustering up all of his confidence, "Well, I bet your ex never got very far with you, then. What, first base? Second? Is little miss scandalous a prude?"
Her eyebrows shoot up and he realizes that he's got her feisty side officially turned on now, fists beginning to clench inward with anger and eyes ready to pounce for her defense. "Let's just leave it at Elliot knows his way around my body, okay? Wouldn't want to taint those virgin ears of yours, would we now?"
He pursed his lips in attempt to hold back ridiculing laughter, but her gaze is so intense and she's still managing to pull off that look of sedation, so he calms himself down while thinking over his next quip. He leans forward over the table and lowers his tone to a husky whisper dramatically audible, "That's a lot of big talk for an innocent."
She melodramatically fake laughs and shakes her head from left to right, as if to say he's not quite understanding what she is implying. "I'm no innocent, babe," she muttered only inches away from his face as she leant towards him as well, widening her eyes and puffing her lips out ever so slightly.
"Well neither am I," he says weakly, momentarily caught off guard what with the heat of her intoxicating breath skating across his nose, skin forming goose bumps despite his suspicion of the temperature climbing by the minute.
She throws her head back in laughter and stands, her smile teasing and telling him that she should really be a professional actress, what with the performance of flirtation.
"You're good," he says while slipping sunglasses onto his face and a single arm around her shoulders, them both making their way back to the store, "but I'm defiantly better."
She continues to laugh because they both know she thinks a bit more quickly on her feet, allowing her to have wittier puns at a faster rate than him. She turns and taps his nose lightly with her index finger, as if to symbolize him being the child and her being the adult, but it turns out to be more of a move commonly done by a swinger, what with its adorable flirtation unmeaningly laced within.
They're at the store later than he thought they would be allowed too, considering the lower levels lights are turned off and her father had clocked out claiming to want sleep at least two hours ago. She slumps herself over the piano, caught between the last lyrics of the chorus and he hasn't fully heard the song all the way through due to his lack of attention, participation, and consciousness.
He's about to fade out for the second time of the night before she squeals an octave higher than her regular tone, startling him to the point of rolling of the couch he was rested on and aggressively onto the floor.
"What, what is it?" He mumbles out in a fatigued manner and she begins to slap his arms in excitement as soon as he stands.
"I finished!" She says while she hops from her left foot to her right, much like she had done earlier, "I finished the song!"
He proceeds to wipe the sleep from his eyes and sits on the piano, wide with wake as she traces the familiar downbeat on a guitar in the seat directly adjacent. He stops her for a moment because he just finished skimming over the finalized first verse and realizes that it's now made up of the scraps he had mindlessly tossed at her hours before.
"Who's going to sing?" He questions because he figures that she wants him to, but if they wind up pulling another hour of work to record the damn thing he wants to make sure she at least does a harmony.
"Oh, uh," she says while sinking her teeth into her lower lip, "I guess I'm not done, I haven't written a baritone part yet. Do you think that we could improvise for the night? I just want to hear it once before we leave, that's all."
He nods and begins on the very first note, following the strict tempo she has scrawled out on the staff and it's hard for him not to look over at her, fully keened into her music: not even caring that her hair is frazzled from the constant hand running through it with frustration, or even her smeared make up and opened button down exposing the camisole she had on underneath.
He reaches the chorus quickly and she chimes in softly, almost as if she is whispering yet she still has the overbearing projection of her voice and he thoroughly believes that he is actually listening to an angel, because Ally is an angel without a doubt.
"Here comes that movie scene, the one you think is so cliché," he sings loudly while peering over to her, now full fledged staring at her and she begins to reciprocate his action, eyes unblinking and mouths moving in syncs over the same words.
She's taken all of his advice, seeing as she's included mentions of his collective list of famous romances—Shakespeare put beside Twilight is a contrast that she loops together with ease, no tripping over the words or chunkiness evident—and movies all piled in alongside one another.
He makes a high notice of her adding in the 'starting as friends' bit because that was never mentioned beforehand and yet it's the piece that fits the whole puzzle together. He ends rather speaking than singing but he's staring at her while his finishes up, and her eyes are making him forget the words and it's also one of those moments people talk about all the time, where its only those two people in the entire world and even the sparks move in slow motion.
Then she breaks apart the feelings by standing and screeching over how incredibly awesome that was, and he realizes that he was the only one caught up in nothing and it makes his face fall because he's been serious all day with the flirting and the stares and she must take it all as one big joke, because it's all she gives him in response.
Friendships are hard to view as only that when the supposed 'friend' is so impossibly attractive and has an even more attractive personality.
He supposes that he can make do, though, because she runs down the stairs and he overlooks her from the balcony as she begins to kick off her shoes and cartwheel, this chaotic and half crazed from lack of sleep form bubbling around an empty store with as much energy as a rabid squirrel. He can't stop laughing and then he makes his own descent in order to join her, locking their fingers together as he spins her round and round in circle. She's glowing under the lack of light, eyes still shining as if she were looking into the sun, and he realizes he has a horrid habit of falling too deeply into her, whatever that may mean in whatever instance.
They lock up almost a half an hour after, them getting distracted by the disco ball suspended in the center of the room and the maximum volume of the speakers built into the walls. He drives her home because she makes no move to drive her own car home, just hops simply into his and cranks the dial on his radio. He laughs loudly at all of their jokes and her smile eats away at her eyes, crinkling them into tiny narrow slits with happiness ebbing from her expression.
She invites him to crash on the fold out couch in her downstairs for the night, but he argues with the fact the first sight her father would see in the morning is some strange bleach blonde boy shirtless watching the morning cartoon shows on Nickelodeon, so she nods in understanding and clicks her door closed with a curt wave goodbye to him.
He hums himself to sleep with her song lyrics and writes a few that pop into his barren mind down hastily, wanting to parade them to her again tomorrow, but then realizes she has an all day shift to work and figures that it might have to wait a couple days, so he puts the melody to rest and thinks over how he'll pick up where he left off in the morning.
He has a pleasant dream where she sits next to him on the same piano bench in her practice room, clad in a clean white dress with a long train and beaded bodice, himself caught in a suit and tie. He wakes up anxiety free and smiling, not over thinking anything because she's his friend and he's her friend and that's their story summed up in seven small words, despite all the meaning they may have behind them.
A/N: much love to my amazing readers and I regret to say that you may have to wait until late July for the next chapter, I have finals and regents and vacation (Florida bound baby! unfortunately not Miami but still, Florida!) and a end of year semi formal and god, I barely have time to breath with the studying and preparations and I hope you end=joyed that window that let you look into the chaos that is my life. ramble ramble ramble.
xoxo