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“Come on lads, time for a picture.” I looked up from watching your fingers move over the frets as you were warming up. Not nearly as dirty as it would seem later on stage, but the movements still made me feel heated. It was all a bit frantic that day, but we’d finally had a moment of rest. Looks like that’s over. The Johns were ushered to stand behind us, an unfamiliar photographer taking a few snapshots. I only just remembered to smile before he moved on in search of other prey. When I snuck a look at you your smile was fake as well, barely hiding the nerves you were badly concealing.
Jonesy was calm as always, asking you about one transition or another, and you answered on autopilot. A second later you called him back and amended your answer. He nodded, but even he seemed worried about you now. You were usually overly precise.
Some nerves were sensible. This venue was larger than any we’d played before, and a part of the crowd was here for other bands. We’d have to convince them we were worth their time. We didn’t know then that it was gonna be our breakthrough in our home country – all we had were hopes.
Well, hopes, a heap of talent, and good preparation.
You had more than just some nerves, and as the show approached you had only become more withdrawn. Anxious to the point you were almost shaking. I forced myself not to show any of my own worries in the hope it would calm you down a little. To distract myself (and you) I fussed a bit with my mildly ridiculous blouse, making sure the fabric was appropriately see-through. The look you’d given me when I put it on was delicious. Plenty reason to keep wearing the thing.
You fiddled with your guitar a moment longer and then went to hand it off to a roadie, me idly following you. Nothing left to do, we almost automatically moved towards the wings, finding a quiet spot out of the way to wait. Hidden by the curtains around us. Only a few more minutes. The audience was calling out already, even with the roadies setting up the last few things. I noticed you checking your pockets for at least the fourth time this evening. Each time you got a little more panicked. Truth be told, I was sick of you freaking yourself out, and getting more and more curious what you were freaking yourself out over.
“What are you looking for?” You startled as if you’d forgotten I was there, then put on a fake smile.
“Oh nothing, it’s stupid.”
Nothing you do is stupid, I wanted to say, but that would be much too earnest for you. “Now you have to tell me.”
You rolled your eyes and curved towards me. “Don’t you dare laugh!” you hissed, and I nodded, a promise we both knew I’d only keep if I wanted. “I lost my good luck charm.”
It wasn’t exactly surprising that you had a good luck charm. After meeting you it hadn’t taken me long to realise how superstitious you could be. At heart you were still the catholic boy you were raised to be – you’d just moved on to other practices. Ghosts, curses, amulets, sigils… These things were as real to you as the strings on your guitar. I wasn’t convinced, but I’d never seen the point in questioning others on such matters. “What does it look like?”
You blinked, and I momentarily felt offended that you’d expected another, more negative reaction. “Just- a good luck charm. It’s small and silver. It must’ve fallen out of my pocket.”
I sighed. A small silver charm, just wonderful. I’d once had to help Maureen find a lost earring, and that took two hours – and we’d at least known what room it was in.
You frowned. “I know, I’m not gonna find it again.”
“Maybe it’s somewhere in your hotel room, or you left it in another pocket,” I tried to be optimistic. It was quite possible. For such a precise person you could be surprisingly chaotic. It didn’t cheer you up much, though, as I was met with another frown.
“Nevermind. Best not to dwell on it. Just superstition, right?” you said, weakly. Trying to convince yourself. You liked to think you were such a rational person.
“You’re gonna be great,” I told you quietly, immediately fearing I’d overstepped. You didn’t always take well to being comforted. Still don’t, to be honest.
That time it was alright. You exhaled, slumping a tiny bit, barely noticeable. Then you looked up at me, green eyes catching the light in a way that made my breath hitch. I hoped you didn’t notice, or at least didn’t realise why. Of course you did – not that I ever had a reason to fear.
“Not if my luck turns bad,” you said, trying to joke, but you fiddled with you sleeve in a way that told me you were serious. I wanted to console you. To somehow show you how incredible you were. That you didn’t need some stupid good luck charm to make magic.
“How about a good luck kiss then,” I said, and then in a panic tried to camp it up by exaggeratedly pursing my lips. Don’t take it seriously. Do take it seriously. The eternal what-ifs flashed through my mind.
By that point we both knew there was something between us, but it was still so undefined. Consisting of hurried handjobs in bathrooms when we were both drunk, giggling the entire time, or quick squeezes of each others’ waist or ass. I thought it was only sex, at least on your side. You were never open enough for me to dare ask about it.
The light was so dim I couldn’t be sure, but I would have sworn a blush appeared on your cheeks. You looked to the side, and then your lovely lips curved into a smile. “Well, I suppose it could do no harm.” And you met my eyes again, this time in a challenge.
There was nobody else around. A rare moment of silence right before the show would start. I suddenly realised how close you were, how I could almost feel the heat of your body through my shirt. I studied you for a moment, still fearing a cruel trick, but couldn’t resist any longer.
I leaned in, meaning to give you a short peck on the cheek. Instead I met the corner of your lips, so close it was almost a real kiss.
Everything seemed to still. For all our fumbling around, I’d never done something so daring before.
Your hand found my waist through the thin fabric of my blouse as we stood there, lingering. I didn’t dare to push any further, and yet I couldn’t make myself move away. Instead you were the one to break the kiss, but you moved even closer, leaning your forehead onto my shoulder. I wanted to bury my hands in your hair, to hold you to me, to kiss you until we were both breathless. I didn’t do any of those things, but I did press another kiss to the top of your head. The smell of Pantene shampoo making me dizzy.
We stood there for what seemed for an eternity, so much closer than we were allowed to be, so much more distance than we wanted. Then something shifted – someone came too close perhaps, or there was a call, I didn’t notice. But you removed yourself from me, smiling softly.
“Time to go on.”
I followed you mutely, watched as you accepted your guitar from a roadie. You were beautiful. Still scared, as you stepped on stage, but not shaking like before.
A short nod shared between you and Bonzo.
E chord. Fast strumming.
And we were off.