Sketch

115 - Sam

This is the last chapter in Sam's point of view, guys.  He's been a joy to write; from moody git to loveable boyfriend, and it's probably silly for me to say that I'll miss sharing his side of the story with you, but I will.  Enjoy!  It's short but most definitely sweet <3

The crowd is huge.  The record shop doesn't open for another half hour but the queue outside is already meandering all the way down the street.

"I didn't even think people bought CDs anymore," Vince says, peering out of the shop window from behind a display of albums.  Our albums. 

I finger the copy in my hands.  This is unreal.  I've always dreamed of launch day of our debut album and now that it's here I can barely keep myself from passing it all off as a dream.

"You can't sign a download," Ollie says, matter-of-factly, clipping Vince's ear with the back of his hand.

Vince frowns at him, patting his mass of blonde hair back into position before looking to his phone.  Alex is due any minute and his nerves are obvious.   Now that they're actually a couple he seems to have relaxed around her a little, not spilling things or blushing quite as much.  Still, he seems anxious for her to get here.  He checks outside again, careful not to be seen.  We hadn't been quite so cautious when we'd arrived through the back way earlier and the screams we evoked were a little too ear shattering to want to hear again so soon.  Cool but loud.

Emmy will be here soon too, having stayed with Alex last night, and the thought of seeing her again is making me a little nervous too.  I occupy myself by watching the crowds outside of the window.  It's not just teenage girls like I'd been expecting, although there are a lot of teenage girls.  There are guys too, some who look older then us.  I smile, pleased that our music is appreciated by a whole group of different people.  I want to be able to inspire anyone, and getting them to listen to our music is a start.

I look down at the album I'm still holding.  A photograph of my old white and black acoustic guitar looks back at me, our band name proudly printed underneath.  Sketch was the obvious choice for the album name.  It's who we are and what we're about.  We don't need a fancy name or artwork.  We want the music to do the talking.

I gaze down at the list of songs.  All ten mean something different, stand for something special, and hopefully sound amazing.  We heard the final run-through for the track listing of the album last night and it made me shudder, producing goosebumps all over my skin.  None of us denied how emotional it was to hear everything come together in a way that will hopefully last the tests of time. The thought of having our names associated with something so amazing is still unreal, but when I step back to watch the crowds again, it becomes reality.  They're queuing, actually waiting, to hear what's on this disc.  I've been here before, but finally I'm on the other side.  I'm not waiting to hear the music, I'm waiting to share it.

I hear Emmy just as the clock nears five to nine.  Her and Alex enter the room laughing.  Vince all but runs to Alex, scooping her into a massive hug before pulling her over to one of our album stands.  I watch them with a smile for a second before I search out Emmy.  She waves as she walks over to me and I feel my smile grow.  I wait until she's footsteps away before I step away from the album stand.  Her eyes widen as she takes in row upon row of our album.  She picks one up,  a look of awe on her face.

"This is crazy."

Having decided I've waited long enough, I pull her towards me, breathing in the smell of her shampoo.

"I missed you," I say.

She smiles, tucking my hair behind my ear.  "I missed you too."

I lean in for a kiss and she tastes even better than I remember.  "You're not allowed to leave again."

She laughs.  "Not even for one night?"

I shake my head.  "No.  Never."  My eyes trail over her eyes and lips and neck.  They crinkle with a smile at the sight of her forest green nail varnish and array of bracelets.  I let my gaze wonder down her whole body; her black skinny jeans and battered Converse.  Reminded of a distant memory, I lift my eyes to her t-shirt.

"You wore that the day I met you."

She looks down at herself, an innocent expression on her face.  "Did I?"  She bites her lip coyly, driving a part of me wild.

I cough to distract myself, a change of subject in order.  "Are you ready for this?"

Emmy looks past me and out onto the streets.  "That depends."

I raise an eyebrow at her words.  "Depends on what?"

"Are you going to be sitting next to me?"

I nod, taking her hand in mine.  "Of course. Next to you is my favourite place."

She grins.  "Well then, as long as you're next to me, I'm ready."

When the doors finally open the screaming doesn't bother me as much.  Not when I have Emmy's hand in mine.