"We are the music makers, and we are the dreamers of dreams."
Music touches everyone. It makes them feel things that words alone can't make them feel, takes them away, and brings them home. It can make people weep, sing, dance, and feel things the...
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Mitch is murmuring the words as he turns his music up a little louder than is necessary. Yeah, everyone can probably hear through my headphones, but I don't give a fuck. He smiles, closing his eyes and forgetting the house party that Scott threw. Forgetting the noise and the people and the laughter and the drinking. Forgetting the Beyonce dance-battle Vincent had challenged Scott to. Forgetting the mess of spilled beer and Nick's cry-laughter. Candice's bright clothes and loud makeup. Discarded high heels and empty cups. Scott, probably slut-dropping and slaying for his life.
He's even discarded his leather Balenciaga pants and his restricting neck-scarf. Nobody cares that he's in his boxers. Nobody will see him anyway. He plans to stay out here til the last person leaves, and then it'll just be him and Scott.
He's sitting, feeling the twilit-cooled breeze in his leg-hair and tousling his baby-bangs. The air smells like chlorine as the wind skims the surface of the pool, and it's beautiful outside. The sunset turns the palm fronds into black silhouettes, and the tops of the houses blend into a blocky, black mountain range. The city sounds are hidden behind his music, and even the odd police siren is blocked out by the bass line. He smiles again. He's lost in his own head.
Because it's just him out here. Alone on the back patio. Alone with his thoughts and the beautiful night, and free to let the music lull him into a numb state, buzzing with the plucking of the guitar chords, the raw, slightly pitchy quality of Ed Sheeran's voice, and the meaning of the lyrics.
"Darlin' your soul could never grow old."
When he opens his eyes, the sky is purple, streaked with brilliant orange and yellow.
He watches the floatie, half inflated and drifting slowly through the water, aimlessly, randomly, sort of like his own thoughts were. Ripples are moving, dimpling the glass-like film on the pool. A lone red Solo cup is perched on the very edge, very close to falling in and dumping whatever warm alcohol someone had left.
He sees all these things, and yet he sees none of them. His eyes glaze across the yard, seeing, but forgetting as soon as they pass.
Because he's thinking about the music. He sort of hears a voice, and feels the patio door open, but he's thinking about the music.
A large body sits beside him on the love seat. Just sits. But that's okay because Mitch doesn't want to talk. There's a new smell, deep and sweet and homey and... person smelling, like cologne and hair and skin and oil.
Scott is holding a scotch glass in his hands, and he leans to set it down on the ground. Mitch sort of wonders why he's out here, and not having fun inside, but he missed Scott's company, and he welcomes his arms as they encircle his shoulders. There is a new kind of warmth on the back of his neck as Scotty nuzzles against him, and Mitch can't help but lean back. Scott's lips touch Mitch's temple as he settles his back against Scott's chest. This is good. Quiet. Peaceful. Just a moment of gentle intimacy.
"People fall in love in mysterious ways. Maybe just the touch of a hand. Oh me, I fall in love with you every single day, and I just wanna tell you I am."
...
Hello, loves!
This song is called "Thinking Out Loud" by Ed Sheeran.
If you enjoyed this chapter, I would love to hear your song suggestions. Just shoot me a comment! XXXX
