Work Text:
September 29, 2012
Making new friends could seem like an intimidating challenge to many, but to Sting, it was a skill he had been gifted with from an early age. No matter where he went, he was always able to charm the people around him, both children and adults of any and all ages. His mother attributed it to his good looks and irresistible smile, his father accounted for it with his manners and friendliness, but Sting knew they were in no position to give an unbiased opinion. These were good qualities he had learned and inherited from them after all, they always said when the subject matter came up, and even though it was meant as a joke he could see the pride in their smiles.
While they probably weren’t really wrong, Sting believed that it all came down to radiating positive energy and having a good dose of confidence, but for the first time, the latter was hard to find. Nothing was familiar ever since he had come to Magnolia as an exchange student at the beginning of his sophomore year. Everything was new territory that he still had to find his place in, and although he did speak the language fluently enough to follow classes and hold his own in conversations, his flawed grammar and clearly present accent were the primary reasons for insecurity to raise its ugly head.
To enrich this unique experience of studying abroad for a year, he had to start making some friends, so on the recommendation of one of his roommates, he’d decided to check out one of the most popular student bars downtown.
Oh, it was popular alright. That much became clear even before Sting entered the place. Live music could be heard from the beginning of the street, the terrace full of people socializing as they smoked their cigarettes, and when he peered through the window the place seemed to be bustling with life.
The first thing Sting did was find his way to the bar to order a drink, he could use some liquid courage if he was going to mingle. With so many people standing already, he figured that all the seats were taken. He found a spot of his own where he could stand, leaning against the side of a slot machine. Sipping his drink, he curiously took in the establishment’s interior.
Classic red brick walls were creatively decorated with graffiti murals, neon signs, and band posters. Aside from two black leather sofas in one corner, all of the furniture was wooden. Empty liquor bottles repurposed as oil lanterns graced every table.
But as appealing as it all was, none of it was the subject of his sudden interest. Instead, he was now focused on a small, elevated stage, where a band was responsible for the music he had heard earlier. Naturally, the lead singer had drawn his attention first, both for his center-stage position and his distinctive appearance. With his long black hair, a black leather jacket that had so many studs it must’ve weighed a ton, and a face covered in piercings, there was no way he could have missed him.
He played a mean set of riffs on his guitar, perfectly in sync with a girl with long blue curls that played the bass, and his voice was raw and raspy like you’d expect from a rock singer. The song ended and Sting’s focus shifted towards another occupant of the stage, the main guitarist.
Out of all the band members he was the least flashy, dressed in just a plain pair of black jeans and a band shirt that seemed at least a size too large. No piercings or tattoos either, no jewelry aside from a watch with a black leather strap. His black hair had been obscuring part of his face before, partially sticking to the sweat on his forehead. He was pulling it back into a small ponytail in preparation for the next song, frowning when it turned out to be in vain, as most of it fell right back into his face again.
The drummer- a guy who’s hair was part black and part white- signaled the start of their next song with four taps of his wooden sticks. This song was different, it had a softer edge to it and when it wasn’t the pierced guy who committed himself to the microphone it became clear why. The guitarist’s voice harmonized with the rest of the song perfectly, as if the two were made for each other.
As easy as it usually was for Sting to make friends, he would just as easily get infatuated. And that was exactly what happened as he watched the young man on the stage lose track of his surroundings. His hands were flying across the strings of his guitar in a way that made it look like child’s play, when Sting knew from a one-time experience that was as far from the truth as you could possibly get. Every note he produced was thick with emotion, and the only way Sting could describe the feelings it provoked was that it felt as if a soft, warm blanket was being wrapped around him.
With fluid motions, the guy moved through the song. The multi-colored stage lights painted rainbows on his skin and danced across his face along with alternating expressions. He was truly lost in a world of his own until the song came to a close, and Sting was convinced he was lost right there with him.
Needless to say, he was too starstruck to even say hi when the guy walked past him to get a drink.
But days later he was still haunting Sting's mind as a bittersweet reminder of his lack of courage, so when he came to the campus library to escape the madness of his dorm floor and noticed him sitting at one of the tables, he wasn’t going to make that same mistake again.
And nervous as he was, he still managed to flash him what he was told was his brightest smile as he placed his hands on the backrest of the opposite chair and asked, “Hey, is this seat taken?