Author's Note: So obviously, I failed my NaNoWriMo goal. But I did write, like 7 chapters, so that's certainly better than nothing. Hopefully I'll be done by the New Year (*laughs bitterly*). Eternal thanks to ArlkatThePillowfighter for a plethora of ideas that I will be using in some upcoming chapters, including this one. Sorry for the long wait for this chapter. My excuse: finals. Hopefully I'll get a lot done over holiday break.
Sunday morning finds you sitting upright on your mattress, furiously strumming away on your acoustic guitar. Your computer sits open in front of you, displaying a page of chord progressions. Training your eyes on the tiny letters on the screen, your left hands flies up and down the neck of the old instrument.
"C," you mutter, squinting at your laptop." "G…F…D." You trail off, letting your hands fall from their positions braced against the guitar. You've already been practicing for about an hour, not counting the time you spent choosing the perfect song. Thankfully, you found one that sounds exactly the way you want it to. It's fast-paced, but not too speedy; sweet, but not too saccharine; modern, but not too preppy; simple, but not too flat. You love it. You hope John will too.
After another hour of practice, the deep tones of your guitar mixing harmoniously with the melodic ease of your voice, you slide the instrument into its case and strap it across your back. The flat side of the guitar bumps uncomfortably against your shoulder blades, so you lean forward into the handlebars for the ride over to John's house.
He answers the door when you ring the bell for the third time, tapping his fingers against the knob. Leveling you with his silent gaze for a moment, he steps aside, allowing you into the foyer. "The suits are upstairs," he says after a moment, closing the door behind you. "I'll go get them." He starts up the stairs. You follow him despite his reluctance.
"I'll come," you insist, padding up the carpeted stairs behind him. He sighs, continuing ahead across the landing to push open the door to his room. You enter after him and let the door swing shut. While John crosses to his closet and starts shifting through various shirts and slacks to find the suits, which are organized impeccably on their hangers, you swing your guitar from your shoulder and remove it from its case. By the time John turns back around with the suits over one arm, you are already sitting cross-legged on his bed, guitar in hand.
John opens and closes his mouth, finally relenting and hanging the suits back up as you begin to play the first chords of Train's Drops of Jupiter. You think you see the flash of a smile across John's cheek as he recognizes the intro. He closes the closet doors once more and joins you on the mattress, one leg tucked underneath him and the other foot brushing against the floor. You lengthen the chords until he's settled, and once he is, you begin to sing.
"Now that he's back in the atmosphere with drops of Jupiter in his hair." John suppresses a grin, bowing his head to inspect his fingernails. You fight back a laugh and forge on.
"He acts like summer and walks like rain, reminds me that there's a time to change." A blush begins to rise to John's cheeks. You try to catch his eye, but he's focusing very fixedly on a particularly stubborn hangnail.
"Since the return from his stay on the moon, he listens like spring and he talks like June." The lyrics describe John so well, not even in a way you can fully explain. They seem to encapsulate his youth, his freedom, his search for something that may not even quite exist yet. John seems to be tracking your train of thought, still blushing lightly. You smirk as you launch into the chorus.
"But tell me, did you sail across the sun? Did you make it to the Milky Way to see the lights all faded, and that heaven is overrated? Tell me, did you fall for a shooting star, one without a permanent scar?" You pause for an infinitesimal moment, fingers pressing the strings firmly against the guitar's neck. "And did you miss me while you were looking for yourself out there?"
The strumming fades into some light transitional chords as you swallow and take some deep breaths, preparing yourself for the pickup. John sits attentively on the bed, stiff like a statue. Instinctively, you shift your position, leaning into him. He chuckles gently and relaxes as you brace yourself against his shoulder and pluck a few strings individually before flowing into the second verse.
"Now that he's back from that soul vacation, tracing his way through the constellation. He checks out Mozart while he does tae-bo, reminds me that there's room to grow." The tempo abruptly accelerates, as does the beat of your heart as John's hand brushes against your elbow. "Now that he's back in the atmosphere, I'm afraid that he might think of me as…plain ol' Dave told a story about a man who was too afraid to fly so he never did land."
The chords grow more swift and tumultuous, and your fingers struggle to keep up as the words spill from between your lips and the music swells. "But tell me, did the wind sweep you off your feet? Did you finally get the chance to dance along the light of day, and head back to the Milky Way? And tell me, did Venus blow your mind?" You smile through the lyrics. "Was it everything you wanted to find? And did you miss me while you were looking for yourself out there?"
While you transition to the bridge, you feel John shift below you. The quivering echo of the guitar loiters in the air for a moment. When you allow yourself a sharp intake of breath before you resume, you hear John take it with you, and all at once you're singing a duet.
"Can you imagine no love, pride, deep-fried chicken? Your best friend always sticking up for you." You snicker. "Even when I know you're wrong. Can you imagine no first dance, freeze dried romance, five-hour phone conversation? The best soy latte that you ever had and…"
All the breath is wrenched from your lungs as John's arms come to rest around you.
"Me."
There is a lengthy, drawn-out pause. You fight off the haze clouding around your senses, and sit up abruptly, trying to maintain the dignity you have left. John grins mischievously and wraps his arms around his own knees instead, watching you intently.
"But tell me, did the wind sweep you off your feet? Did you finally get the chance to dance along the light of day, and head back toward the Milky Way?" You start off hesitantly, now that you're singing alone again, each strident chord seeming more poignant than the last. After a few lines, your heartbeat slows again, and your singing becomes less strained and more confident.
"And tell me, did you sail across the sun? Did you make it to the Milky Way to see the lights all faded, and that heaven is overrated? And tell me, did you fall for a shooting star? One without a permanent scar?" You're beaming like a madman, trying to avoid catching John's gaze in your periphery. "And did you miss me while you were looking for yourself?"
The last twangs of the final chord fade into a tense silence. You untangle the guitar's strap from around your body and go to work sliding the instrument back into its case. John's eyes are drilling into the back of your skull, and you can feel it. Just as everything is all zipped up, his hands slip under your arms and slide across your chest. Your breath hitches as he rests his chin on your shoulder and makes a small noise of contentment.
"Thanks, Dave," he says in a whisper. "That was beautiful."
You sit there with him, unmoving, for a long time.