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Sid makes his grand entrance, complete with what seems like a spotlight shining down on his dark-haired head. Or at least, this is what it looks like from Johnny's point of view. His best mate looks downright effervescent —or maybe it’s just the alcohol in his system exaggerating the moment. Still , Johnny can’t help but beam as Sid struts into the warehouse as their newly instated bassist.
Chrissie and Jonesy both bugger off after the announcement, Chrissie’s mood nearly spoiling the festive atmosphere Johnny and Sid are bound and determined to keep alive.
The boys decide to settle in for the night, plopping down together on one of the ratty couches that resides in the cozy, dungeon-esque warehouse that Malcolm had rented for the group.
“I’m really in the band, aren’t I, Johnny?” Sid asks with a childlike earnestness that makes Johnny’s chest ache.
“That’s right, Sid,” he replies, taking a swig of the warm beer in his hand. “So, don’t go dying on me anytime soon…”
Johnny’s voice peters out as that frightening talk they’d had about Sid dying at twenty-one years of age comes to mind. It’d had him on edge ever since Sid had brought it up. The weight of it seems lighter now, like somehow now that Sid’s in the band that’ll make him immortal ; immune from danger or harm, keeping him close to Johnny’s hip and most importantly, his heart.
“Well, I can’t die now, can I? Who’ll play the bass? Not Glen again, I hope!” Sid says, smiling as he reaches over for a bass guitar propped up along the edge of the couch.
He begins to fiddle with it, a nervous energy vibrating off of his every move. He plucks at the instrument’s strings, his inexperience glaringly evident.
Johnny watches him, his face pulling into a grimace just before he downs his beer in three big gulps. Sid’s playing is horrid to say the least, his uncoordinated hand movements overriding his determination to play. Johnny wonders if those hands will ever be able to follow a beat.
Those hands are more likely to reach out and touch me , he impulsively thinks to himself. Shameless , the voice inside his head chides quickly after.
Johnny tears his eyes away from Sid and faces forward, staring at nothing in particular as his face begins to get hot, a flood of thoughts saturating his mind.
This is foolish—I'm being foolish , Johnny thinks as his body tenses.
Reflexively, he crushes the empty beer can in his hand before tossing it away. The can clanks against the floor on impact and rolls into a dim part of the warehouse catching Sid’s attention.
“What is it?” Sid asks, noticing Johnny has gone stiff and quiet next to him. “What’s the matter? It’s my playin’, isn’t it?”
“No, Sid,” Johnny grumbles, trying very hard not to let his eyes roll up into oblivion.
It’s beginning to happen again, that rise of emotion; those pesky feelings he had developed for his best mate. He figures it’s only bound to get worse. They already spend a considerable amount of time together, now they’ll be working together. Johnny hadn’t considered that. Or, maybe, he had; subconsciously or what not.
“Yeah, it is,” Sid insists, setting aside the bass before scooting closer to Johnny until his chest is pressed against the side of his body.
Johnny’s eyes go wide and his breath hitches. It feels like he’s suffocating under the weight of his emotions along with the thoughts that he could be ruining absolutely everything—the band’s future and most importantly, his friendship with Sid.
Seconds pass, he’s been holding his breath for far too long it seems. Johnny exhales a stuttered, choked breath, practically deflating as his best mate continues to lean against him; Sid’s thin frame becoming some inconceivable solid mass.
“It isn’t,” Johnny sing-songs indignantly. He realizes he should probably be peeling himself away, maximizing the space between them but even just leaning away a fraction provides no safe distance. Sid seems to be plastered to him and normally Johnny would try to think of something else— anything else —to distract himself from the close proximity but tonight is different .
He braves a glance over his shoulder at his friend, only a quick, little peek. When his eyes meet Sid’s, he realizes just how close he really is.
Johnny can feel Sid’s breath, heavy with the scent of alcohol, ghosting along his ear—along the apple of his cheek. It’s hot and it pulls up gooseflesh on his skin.
Sid looks back at him, a worried little crease deeply etched between his eyebrows. That nervous energy from a moment ago, still emanating from every one of his pores.
Then Sid kisses him unexpectedly, Johnny doesn’t even see it coming despite the fact that he's facing the other head on. He is equally blindsided by how soft and innocent the kiss feels and he thinks to himself, if it were any other person, he might have violently pushed them away and wiped his mouth clean of the spit they might’ve smeared on him. This is different. He doesn’t mean to get sappy but, it’s everything he’s been hoping for— waiting for .
Sid pulls away much too quickly for Johnny’s liking, a big, goofy grin spread across his face, Johnny makes a little noise, a cross between a moan and a whimper. It really isn’t becoming of him but it can’t be helped now.
“Oi, why’d you do that?” He asks, blinking angrily at the other.
“We’re celebratin’, aren’t we?” Sid offers.
A nervous smirk cracks across Johnny’s face, it’s gone in a second as he occupies himself by rifling through his pocket for his pack of cigarettes. “S’pose we are,” he says as coolly as he can, his hands trembling.
He manages to pop a cigarette into his mouth, light it, and take a drag. Sid’s attention returns to the bass guitar. His playing hasn’t gotten any better, but this time Johnny has a small smile strung along his lips and for a moment, the crushing weight of great expectations and undetermined fates is a little lighter.