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Word count: 4 810 (oops)
You loved being a chemist. You had regular shifts at work and rarely a night shift or the Sunday shift. Most of the customers were nice and you liked your coworkers and your boss, they were all really lovely people, especially Mira, an elderly woman who often worked at the same time as you. She constantly asked you about whether you had met any interesting people you might consider dating and she always offered to help you with a pro-contra-list if you had to make any kind of decision. She also made cake once a week, which was highly appreciated by everyone. And she had made you join the local amateur theater group after you had told her you had been in the drama club at school.
At first you had been shy about joining the group, but even though some of the other members were weird and had a 'diva-complex' as Mira called it, it was great fun. Most people were a little older than you, some were a bit younger, some had already kids and a few people in Mira's age were there as well.
It was your second year with the group when your director, an energetic middle aged man called Thomas found out you liked to write. Since the play he wanted to do this year, consisted of many tiny scenes all revolving around the topic of rebellion, he had asked you to write one of the scenes. You had been hesitant at first, not having much self confidence in your writing, but in the end he convinced you to write something, offering to help you if you got stuck.
It had only been a two weeks since then. You still had loads of time to write the scene and already had an idea for it, but had not started writing yet.
It was the usual late evening meeting in the backroom of a pub, a room just big enough to fit all the members of the group inside. Currently you were discussing the cast for the first few scenes. You were sitting in the back next to Mira and one of her friends who was knitting. You shot each other disbelieving looks at the discussion the people in the front were causing, as mentioned, some of them had a 'diva-complex'.
"You would make a terrible Louise," one of the younger girls complained, "she is obviously an energetic being, nothing you could portray!"
"Hey, what are you implying here?"
"Ladies, please..."
You watched Thomas in a mixture of amusement and pity as he tried to calm down the two women before they would start to pull out each other's hair. You had a feeling they were the kind of people who had joined the theater group because they hoped to be discovered by a talent scout that way. Anyways they were always fighting about playing the most sympathetic roles, the nice ones, the one the audience could identify with. Much to you displeasure they were not the only ones. In total there were about five women and three men who always seemed to fight about everything. Each year it seemed like a miracle that you ended up with a working performance in the end.
You were pretty sure one of the fighting girls had just thrown her hand bag at the other, when suddenly the door behind your back opened with a screech. A wave of music and chatter from the pub slid in the room and along with it a tall, slim man. He quickly closed the door behind his back and shyly looked around the room until his eyes found Thomas.
"Oh, Ryan, you're here," the director exclaimed happily and waved the stranger to the front. "Everyone, meet Ryan. He's a musician and has offered to help with a bit of music for the play."
"Why do we need music," the bored voice of one of the peacock-men sounded.
"At the last meeting we decided that we would like to have a little soundtrack, which you would know, if you had been here," Thomas explained sourly.
The man just huffed.
You interestedly studied the stranger, Ryan. He had brown hair that was combed back and from what you could tell, dark eyes. He wore a black shirt and above it a leather-vest with badges. On his fingers he wore several rings and he carried a guitar case, which made a lot of sense if he was supposed to help with the music. And he was beautiful. He had light stubble and you could tell had must have been the most adorable kid, but now the cuteness had turned into masculinity. Apparently you were not the only one who thought so, judging by the suddenly increasing murmur in the front rows where the 'divas' were sitting. Ryan scanned the room shyly, obviously not sure what to expect from the people around him. When his eyes met yours, you smiled friendly, trying to make the situation less awkward for him.
Thomas continued explaining how over time Ryan would look at the scenes that you wanted to do for the play and based on that he would write little melodies that he would play on guitar during the performance. So you probably had not seen the last of him.
After Thomas was done explaining, he invited Ryan to sit down and immediately the front rows shuffled, making space for him, every single of the girls curious to talk to the attractive man.
~*~
Ryan did not cross your mind again until the next meeting. This time he was early and one of the only people in the room when you entered. You hung your jacket over your usual chair in the back before considering to go talk to someone, maybe even Ryan since you knew nothing about him so far, but your idea was ruined by one of the 'diva'-girls who entered the room and at the sight of Ryan immediately walked over and hugged in tightly, a hug that he uncomfortably returned. Poor guy.
The same scenario repeated with the entrance of each of the 'diva'-girls and you continued pitting Ryan more and once Mira picked up on the other girls' behavior, she agreed with you. For a moment she even contemplated to go over there herself and save the musician, but she had too much fun watching the young man trying to get rid of his new fan club, and you were too shy, not to mention the fact that you would get into colossal trouble with these 'divas' if you tried to take their new toy away from them.
~*~
Weeks and rehearsals passed, Ryan still did not get rid of the obviously him annoying group of girls, and you finally had finished writing the scene. You also had been cast as one of the bitchy, arrogant, insufferable antagonists in the play and you loved it since it was so different from your real personality. Mira also played a bad guy, a drug dealing grandma who would not hesitate to kill someone if they ate the last cupcake and her friend played the second in command. It was hilarious to watch the elderly women crack up every time you said one of your lines. They insisted that it was so wrong, seeing you, not wearing a costume but your everyday clothes, speak in a manner that was so much unlike you. And you had to admit, it was real fun.
While the actors worked on their scenes, Ryan was working on the music. He sat next to the tiny 'stage' you had created in the backroom of the pub and played around with his guitar, trying to pick up the scenes atmosphere, not only from the script but also by what the director and the actors added to it. You had to admit you loved watching him, his long, slim fingers skipping over the strings skillfully, his lips drawn into a sharp line when he was thinking or his brows furrowed when he watched a scene intently. You still had not talked to him, your only communication consisting off nods and smiles, sometimes a grimace when someone had messed up a line. You found yourself hoping that he did not do this with anyone else and more and more the thought of him invaded the days between rehearsals. And you had not even talked to him yet!
"(Y/n)!"
You turned around to Thomas who had shouted for you. It was late and everyone was going home so he tried to catch you before you were out of the door.
"What's up," you asked, noticing how Ryan had followed Thomas and was standing close behind him. For a moment you could feel yourself get nervous, but you pushed the thought aside and concentrated on the director.
"Have you already started to write that scene," he asked curiously.
"Yes, I have. Actually finished it the other day," you told him, "I want to proofread it again, maybe change a few things here and there, and then we're good to go I think."
"That's amazing, wow, brilliant," Thomas cheered, surprised that you had already worked so much on it. "Okay, listen here, since it's your scene, how about you direct it, choose the actors, the music," he waved to Ryan who stood behind him and listened, "the setting and all. You made such an effort and I'd love for you to take complete control of it."
Your heart sped up at the thought. Direct your own scene in a play? Hell yes!
"Really, you'd let me," you asked surprised, wide eyed.
"Sure, you are responsible and a very creative mind, I'm sure you got it," Thomas reassured you.
"Wow, yes, I mean," you could not help but stutter out the words. "I'd love to do that, yes!"
Following an impulse you hugged him and he chuckled deeply.
"Glad to make you happy," he laughed and patted your shoulder after you had let go. "How about you and Ryan meet up to discuss the music for the scene sometime?"
You nodded eagerly and noticed how Ryan was grinning at you fondly.
"Great, then I'll leave you two to it," Thomas decided, "see you next week."
He waved goodbye and left the two of you alone.
"Sooo..." Ryan dragged out the last letter and blinked at you. "When do you have time for some high level musical discussion?"
You laughed a little, suddenly feeling nervous again. Why were you so nervous?
You agreed on meeting in the park close to the pub on Wednesday evening after your shift at the pharmacy and parted ways, both with fast beating hearts and blush reddened cheeks.
~*~
Of course you told Mira about this development during your next shift together. She was excited for you to direct your own scene, but she was even more excited about you meeting with Ryan.
"He seems like a really sweet boy, I'm sure you'll have a lovely time," she assured you.
"We're meeting to work on the scene, it's not a date," you insisted, trying to calm the enthusiastic lady down.
"Whatever you say," she giggled gleefully, "but I want to be your maid of honor when you marry, after all you would not have met him if I hadn't made you join the theater group!"
"We're not... what are you even talking about," you shook your head in disbelieve. Who would have thought a 60 year old lady could be so unnerving?
"Oh, you can't fool me," she winked, "I know you like him!" And with that she disappeared behind a few shelves, still giggling.
Wednesday could not come quickly enough for you and when you left the pharmacy at five pm, you were already pretty nervous. You wore only casual clothes, a blue jeans and a simple but elegant shirt, the clothes you had worn under your pharmacists coat during the day.
The air was warm but not yet hot and a cool breeze coming from the sea side blew down the streets. The park you and Ryan had chosen for the meeting was not too far away so you took the time for a walk, thinking about the scene you had written and curious for what Ryan would add musically.
When you reached the park it did not take you long to find Ryan. He sat in the grass under a big tree, guitar in his hand and mindlessly plugging the strings in a sweet melody.
"Hey," you greeted and waved rather awkwardly at him.
He looked up and a smile tucked at his lips as he spotted you approaching him.
"Hi, how are you," he answered, quickly getting up and welcoming you with a gesture of his hand, signaling you to sit down.
You smiled and carefully spread out your jacket on the grass before sitting down on it, not wanting to risk any green stains on your trousers.
"I'm fine, how are you," you replied, watching as he sat back down again.
"I'm good, thanks. Excited to see what you wrote, to be honest," he laughed.
"Don't expect too much," you warned, "It's nothing big really, and full of typos."
You pulled a few freshly printed pages out of the backpack you had been carrying with you and handed Ryan the sheets. It was the first time someone else would read the scene and you were anxious for the reaction.
"Can I read it," Ryan asked excitedly, taking the pages carefully from you.
"Yeah, sure," you nodded, "just as I said, don't expect too much. I'm not Shakespeare."
Ryan giggled and started reading, his eyes concentrated running over the tiny, black lines on the paper. You watched him curiously. Sometimes his brows would furrow and other times he would laugh quietly at a joke. He handled the pages carefully, gently flipping them over when he was done with one. When he had finished reading the scene, he exhaled deeply.
"Wow," he breathed, his eyes flickering up to you, "that was intense."
"Too intense," you asked worriedly, but he quickly shook his head.
"No, no, not at all! I think it's a really good idea to use a confrontation of participants in the women's-march and Trump supporters as a scene in a play about rebellion. It's amazing!"
You blushed at his compliment and quickly adverted your gaze.
"It was just one of the first things that came to mind," you told him.
"But it's brilliant, I love it," he smiled. "I think this scene will be the heart of the play."
"Now you're exaggerating," you scolded him, but were still blushing.
"No, I mean it! I'm so looking forward to see this on stage," he assured you. "I think I already got an idea for the melody."
What followed were many different ideas concerning the atmosphere in the scene you had written. He continued striking accords or picking strings, suggesting melodies and harmonies for the different parts of the scene. In the beginning it was a little difficult since your ideas concerning the music differed a lot and you were not sure if you were insulting him if you asked for something different than he was playing, but he sensed your insecurity and made you tell him what you had in mind. Soon he picked up on the picture you had in mind for the music and noted down all the things you discussed together, the chords, the tabs and the patterns down into the version of the scene you had printed out for him.
When you were finished with the first draft of music, you decided to go through it again, just to see if everything matched.
"Maybe we should meet again another time, just to see if you still like what we worked on today," Ryan suggested, nervously rubbing his neck and avoiding your eyes. "You know, letting the first impression settle, working it over..."
"Sounds good," you agreed, not being able to suppress the excited feeling when he suggested meeting again.
"Really?" He seemed surprised that you picked up so easily on his offer and a wide grin spread over his face. "When do you have time?"
After you decided on meeting on Friday, in two days, he offered to accompany you to the closest bus station, just to make sure you were safely on your way home.
The whole evening you kept blushing every time you thought of Ryan, and he constantly seemed to cross your thoughts.
~*~
Friday afternoon was almost too warm for your liking, but then again it had been your decision to move to LA, you had known that it would get warm here. You were wearing short trousers this time, matching a casually elegant shirt. Just like two days ago you found Ryan sitting under the same tree in the park. When he saw you, he jumped up and engulfed you in a hug, apparently an action he had not thought through beforehand, judging by his clearly embarrassed expression afterwards.
His hug left you with a far too fast beating heart and a loss for words for a moment, which he luckily did not seem to notice. Together you sat down under the tree in the shadow of the hot Californian sun. Unlike last time you did not start working immediately but instead talked for a while and even after you started going through the scene together again, you spent a lot of time talking, not really paying much attention to the work you were supposed to do.
When you had finished the scene, you reading out the lines while he played the planned music underneath, you continued sitting in the grass, talking. You learned a lot about him, how he loved his dog and how much he liked the music he was constantly working on. You told him about how you had moved to LA and about all the weird things Mira sometimes told you. You laughed a lot and more than once you found yourself enchanted by the way the sinking sun painted such soft patterns of light on his skin, made his eyes shine in a warm brown and made him blink so often. Little did you know that he did not notice the slightly too long pauses between your sentences when you were watching him, since he himself was far too busy carefully observing the tiny stray hairs on your head that were shining in the orange evening light, or the sweet way you sometimes pulled your lip between your teeth.
It seemed far too soon that the sun had set and it got cold surprisingly fast. Noticing your hesitation to end this meeting, and unwilling to leave you alone already, Ryan invited you to one of the ice cream parlors close to the park. What followed was another two hours of chatting about whatever came to mind. A blush that did not seem to leave, heated up your cheeks constantly and had you not been too busy worrying about that, you would have noticed that Ryan was just as flustered as you. After both of you had finished a sundae and your sodas you kept talking until one of the waiters asked if you needed anything else because they were about to close. This time Ryan insisted on bringing you home since it was 'too late for a wonderful person like you to stroll around after night fall'. You had joked about him trying to be a gentleman or a stalker and he had just shrugged, and answered you would never know.
When you arrived at your house you found the courage and invited Ryan inside, an invitation that he gladly took. Together you cooked dinner and watched one of your favorite movies on TV, before Ryan decided that it was time for him to go home. He helped you clean up and hugged you good bye before he stepped out into the cool night.
"Text me when you're home," you asked, "I wanna be sure you get home safely."
Ryan grinned fondly at your request.
"Give me your number then," he demanded, handing you his mobile.
Right, you still had not exchanged numbers. You took the electronic devise and typed your name and your number in the new contact form Ryan had opened for you.
"I'll text you," he promised and smiled when he took the mobile back out of your hand, his fingers lightly brushing yours. "Good night. Have nice dreams!"
"You too," you answered with a soft smile.
You watched as Ryan skipped down the few steps to the sidewalk. He turned around again and waved before he strode down the street and disappeared in the dark.
You were drop dead tired but stayed awake until your phone vibrated with a new message. You were in bed already, dressed in your pajama, listening to the sound of late night traffic through the open window, cuddled into the blanket. You switched on the screen and were met with a text from an unknown number.
"Hi :) it's Ryan. I'm home now! Good night!"
You smiled at the message, but decided against responding and instead turned the screen back off and went to sleep.
~*~
Thomas loved the scene you had written and the music Ryan had added. During the next rehearsal you decided the actors for the scene and there was a first read through.
During the next weeks you were not only organizing and crafting props for the scene you had written (often with the help of Ryan and Mira who seemed to get along perfectly), you also met Ryan several times for ice cream or coffee and learned the lines and directions for the scenes in which you were on stage. Neither Ryan nor you had ever mentioned dating or implied that your regular meetings were maybe dates, but you still hoped that he would ask one day. You got to know Ryan fairly well over the next weeks, and the more you learned about him, the more you liked him. He was not only a very interesting, nice and attentive person, he also had an interesting past and a big heart. Sometimes you would go to the cinema together and every weekend after theatre rehearsal he invited you over to his place where you would watch old movies and cook delicious food.
The doubtlessly stressful but still blissful weeks were over far too soon and it was the evening of the premier. You were sitting backstage, quietly chatting to Ryan who was tuning his guitar. You knew that one of your best friends was sitting in the audience tonight and it filled you with a feeling of safety. You fiddled with the hem of your shirt while Ryan told you about what his dog had done this morning. The clothes were untypical for you, they were too tight and too brightly colored. Talking to Ryan like this felt weird. It was really helpful to feel more like the character you were playing on stage, but backstage they were uncomfortable. Thomas entered the small room and called Ryan and you to the rest of the group. A few encouraging words and shoulder pats later the heavy, crimson curtain lifted, revealing the set of the first scene.
Stepping on stage in front of an audience for the first time in a whole year was scary, but you felt confident. You knew your lines, you had practiced the scenes so often, you could do it in your sleep, and even if something went wrong: you were surprisingly good at improvising on stage. And this time you had the comfort of Ryan sitting on a chair in the front corner of the stage, playing the music he had created for the play. Having him here on stage with you made you feel more confident when you stepped into the blinding lights of the stage. From here it was impossible to see the audience. You could almost imagine the theatre was empty, apart from the occasional cough or sneeze.
You played your scenes without any incidents. There was applause between each scene and you smiled to yourself knowing that the audience enjoyed the project that all of you had put so much effort into. Yet it did not stop you from feeling anxious when it was time for the scene you had written. You knew discussing politics in a play was a dangerous move and you had given your best not to prefer the one over the other side, and everyone so far had loved it, but you felt sick anyway. Carefully you listened to the dialog developing in front of the curtain you were hidden behind. The actors' voices grew louder as the discussion got more and more heated, the plugging of guitar strings changed to rapid strumming. Even backstage you could feel the growing tension between the two parties on stage, Trump supporters and participants of the women's-march. You heard props hitting against each other as the staged fight took place and you knew from Ryan's playing that the scene was almost over. A loud bang of an explosion that was played in over the audio system and the flooding of the entire stage with blinding light before everything turned dark, signaled the end of the scene. For a moment there was silence in the audience and you were already starting to wonder if everyone had hated it or if they were waiting for the scene to continue. Actors hurried past you, clearing the stage of props, and quickly preparing for the last scene, when suddenly the audience started cheering and clapping. You smiled brightly, knowing well that the scene had been a total success.
It was the perfect moment when you stepped backstage with all the other actors, the technicians, Thomas and Ryan. Everyone was hugging and cheering. Mira flung her arms around you and proudly patted your back.
"You've been amazing," she cheered.
"So were you, you improvised so well when Chris forgot his lines," you told her.
You were still dressed in your costume, everyone was. It was still uncomfortable, but it was part of the after show routine. There was a tiny celebration of the finished play with some snacks and beverages before everyone dressed in their usual clothes and the party continued in the pub where you had always rehearsed. Your head was spinning and you felt like you were floating as people congratulated you on the scene you had written. You praised them for their acting and everyone was laughing and cheering. In the crowd of people you were looking for Ryan. You really wanted to tell him how much his contributions had influenced the play and how fantastic he had played. It took you almost three minutes before you had found the dark haired musician, dressed in an elegant suit. When he spotted you, his eyes sparkled cheerfully and he quickly made his way over to you.
"You've been amazing," you breathed and wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him into an enthusiastic hug.
"So have you! You were fantastic, you were..." he pulled back a bit and his eyes flickered over your face before he quickly leant down and pressed his hot lips against yours.
Fireworks ignited in your stomach when you felt his mouth on yours, his breath fanning over your heated skin and his hands slowly creeping up your back and tangling in your hair. You had wanted this for weeks and now Ryan was really kissing you. You had already felt like floating but with Ryan kissing you, you were pretty sure you actually were. You heart was beating so fast and your head so dizzy but instead of letting go of Ryan, you only kissed him harder, pulled yourself into him.
When you parted, both in desperate need for air, Ryan's eyes met yours in wonderment.
"Wow," he breathed surprised and smiled when he saw the overjoyed expression on your face.
"Everybody, get changed! We're going to the pub now!"
Thomas voice pulled you back into reality and you shot Ryan another quick look. One of his big, warm hands slipped into yours.
"Shall we?"
You nodded happily, before remembering you were still in your costume.
"Wait, I need to get changed!"
You quickly hurried into one of the changing rooms and peeled the awful costume off of your body before slipping into something way more comfortable.
When you stepped back outside, Ryan was already waiting for you. He took your hand again, but instead of leading you back to the others, he gently placed his hand on your waist and gave you short, sweet kiss.
"Ready," he asked, his fingers tightening around yours.
"Ready," you confirmed and together you joined the other actors on the way to the pub.