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The studio is quiet—too quiet for people who make music for a living. Lunchtime has rolled around, and rumbling stomachs fill the air instead of mixed notes and calloused fingers against strings. It’s different, but at the same time, soothing. Loud banging absent, and loud yells swallowed instead of bouncing off of the padded walls.
But it’s never annoying. The loudness stops second thoughts because there isn’t time to think, only time to do.
Music is a lovely place for them. It’s an area where they can all connect, and every worry is gone. When the headphones go on, and newly written chords lace through their eardrums, that’s the only worry.
But now, it’s different. Only two of them sit in the studio now—Mike and Adam—and only they have their unique way of connection that music doesn’t infiltrate
Love.
The studio is big—but not too big. It’s homey, a place where they can all be together but apart at the same time, and that’s what they’re doing.
Mike sits close to his drums, looking up at the gold symbol and tracing the circle with his eyes. Adam sits across the room from him, back pressed against a mulberry-colored wall. His dark eyes trail up the expanse of Mike’s neck and travel upwards towards his turned face, admiring the way his nose reflects in the light and the tendons that stand out below his jaw.
“Mike,” Adam says from the wall, moving uncomfortably as the drywall digs into his spine.
Mike turns his head; the yellow light above glowing against his tan skin makes Adam want to melt.
And he does.
With a slow slump of his shoulders and blowing eyes, he and Mike make eye contact. Butterflies fill his stomach as if it’s the first time.
“Yeah, baby?”
And he melts again. Warmth spreads from the tips of his fingers to the thick skin on his cheeks as they turn rose. Vines grow around his ankles and pull, making him feel the gold connection in the space between him.
He wants needs Mike by him.
“Why’re you so far away?” Adam asks because it feels right. Mike always feels right, whether it’s in a sound booth or when long kisses from a hot mouth are being pressed to his throat, it’s always right. “C’mere.”
Adam can tell what Mike is thinking. The way his eyebrows furrow and his lips purse, how his fingers pick at the skin that surrounds his nails, making him hiss under his breath.
“You come over here,” Mike says, but it comes out as less of a request and more of a demand.
Adam smiles, “Why?”
Mike returns the smile. Adam studies his face again, looking at how his eyes widen and how the left side of his lips turns further upwards than his right, making his smile crooked. Imperfection, yet, it’s perfect.
“Because,” Mike says, and that’s enough to convince Adam.
He stands up, groaning when his knees crack. Wind passes in front of his eyes, making him slightly dizzy, but his destination still sits in front of him. “You owe me,” Adam says as he departs from the wall.
“For?” Mike asks, still sitting in the same spot. Adam can tell he’s admiring him back—the same soft gaze and brown eyes that mirror his expression look back at him, but then he realizes that’s just the look of love. Roses bloom in between them as he continues forward against the grain of yellow light, trailing every worry behind him.
“For making me get up,” Adam laughs, “to walk over to you so that you can get up and bang on your drums again.”
“Who says I was gonna do that?” Mike asks, his face still tilted upwards towards Adam. The shadow under his jaw is predominate as the darkness bleeds down his neck,
“I know your plans—how you work.” Adam teases, but it’s playful—it always is, and always will be. “I’m gonna get there, and you’re gonna make me ear level so I can hear you play.”
“Is that why you’re moving extra slow?” Mike laughs; his words pour out like honey.
“Maybe,” Adam says, “or what if I just want to walk slowly?”
“Is that it?” Mike asks, “y’know, for someone who’s been in a band with me for this long; you’d think they’d actually like my banging.”
“I do like your banging,” Adam says.
He’s crossed half the room; wine-stained walls surround him as a set of eyes still stare into his alabaster skin. Soft and pale as his oversized shirt dips below his collarbones. The collar is red and overstretched from stressful pulling and uncomfortable suffocation that fills his lungs anytime a twinge of anxiety sets in.
But, the anxiety is a distant memory now, and living in the present finally seems like a reality. Listening to old samples and retrying failed notes makes life feel like a constant repeat, but this time, it’s real—and almost feels like the future. The future of what he wants—what he craves.
“Then why don’t you walk faster?” Mike questions, watching Adam’s feet trail against the ground. The sound of carpet burn that attacks the bottom of Adam’s sneakers. “Only if you love my banging so much.”
“I said I liked it—not loved,” Adam says, stifling a laugh that itches the back of his throat.
“What if it’s the best drum solo you’ll ever hear?” Mike asks, tilting his head slightly. “And you waste all this time moving like a snail.”
“A snail?“ Adam repeats in question, finally letting his muffled laughs bounce off of the walls. “Are you calling me gross and slimy?”
“I’m calling you dumb and stupid.”
“How are they dumb and stupid?”
“They don’t have brains,” Mike argues.
“Are you sure?“ Adam questions, raising a skeptical eyebrow at Mike, who only returns the expression. The unsure eyebrow turns into an entire confused face, wondering how they got to this conversation. “Why are we talking about snails?”
“Because you’re as slow as one,” Mike says again, making Adam roll his eyes.
“Y’know—“ Adam starts before getting cut off by Mike.
“Babe, just hurry up.” Mike groans, not wanting this conversation to start back over.
And then, finally, Adam walks over. With a relieved sigh, Mike extends his arms forward. It feels like ecstasy when Adam moves to his knees and into Mike’s arms, feeling them tighten around him.
“It feels like,” Mike starts, cutting himself off to press a soft kiss to Adam’s temple. “We haven't done this in forever.”
“It’s been a couple of hours.” Adam laughs, turning his head and capturing Mike’s lips in between his own. It’s soft, and it’s sweet, and nothing either of them has experienced before. It’s lined with silver and filled with a warmth that stays almost secretive so that they have it with each other.
They pull away, small breaths and loving glances that still send both of them into spirals like it’s the first time. Flashes of old memories and first kisses—but yet, it still feels the same.
Adam’s heartbeats quickly against his chest, opening his mouth and taking a couple of breaths before he mutters. “Now, wanna show me your playing?”
Mike smiles up at Adam, “Yeah, I’d love to.”