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Michael noticed the singer because, for a few seconds, the rest of the world stopped mattering.
Not stopped, exactly. That would have been easier to explain. The boardwalk was packed, people moving around him in every direction beneath flashing lights while music from the stage competed with arcade machines, rides, laughter, and somebody yelling somewhere behind him. There was too much happening at once, the kind of noise that eventually became one indistinguishable wall of sound.
Then Michael looked toward the stage and saw him.
The singer was blond, dressed in a gray tank top with the sides cut low and a black leather harness strapped across his chest, because apparently subtlety had died sometime before Michael arrived in Santa Carla. Leather cuffs wrapped his wrists, one hand covered by a fingerless glove, jewelry catching the stage lights whenever he moved. A tiny silver dagger dangled from one ear, swinging whenever he threw his head back or crossed the stage.
Michael stared, because he was allowed to stare. The guy was onstage, after all, that was sort of the point of performing in front of people dressed like that. Michael could appreciate the view without making it weird. At least, that was what he was telling himself right up until the singer looked directly at him, their eyes meeting across the crowd with such startling precision that Michael forgot every argument he'd just made in his own defense.
For one impossible moment, everything slowed.
Michael could still see the crowd moving around him, but they suddenly felt miles away. The music stretched, each beat seeming to take just a fraction longer than it should have. He could see the singer's fingers tightening around the microphone, the flash of the dagger earring beneath the stage lights, the movement of his mouth as he sang. There were people between them, but the singer wasn't looking at any of them anymore.
He was looking at Michael.
Something warm tightened beneath Michael's ribs and pulled. He stepped forward without deciding to, and that probably should have bothered him more than it did, but then the singer smiled at him and Michael's stomach dropped so violently that whatever remained of his common sense apparently went with it. The guy was singing about wanting someone, about needing them, having to have them, and Michael knew this was a performance. He understood stage presence. The singer probably did this every night, picked some poor bastard out of the crowd and stared them down until they thought every word was meant specifically for them.
Michael knew that. He took another step anyway.
The singer reached toward the crowd and Michael moved closer, the strange warmth beneath his ribs tightening until it felt almost like an invisible hand drawing him forward. The stage lights shifted as the singer turned, catching something along the skin exposed at the side of his tank top. For half a second Michael could have sworn he saw blue, then green, then something almost purple shimmering along his ribs before it disappeared again.
Glitter, probably. The guy was performing in a leather harness. Body glitter wasn't exactly going to be the strangest fashion decision happening here tonight.
The singer looked back at him, and this time there was something almost curious beneath the confidence. Michael stepped closer again.
Then the pull vanished.
Michael stopped short as the rest of the world seemed to slam back into place. The music returned to its proper speed, somebody crashed into his shoulder and kept dancing without apologizing. Michael blinked hard and looked around, half expecting somebody else to react to whatever the fuck had just happened, but nobody seemed to have noticed anything.
When he looked back toward the stage, the singer was still watching him.
There was no pull now. Nothing warm curling beneath Michael's ribs, nothing making the rest of the crowd disappear. The singer tilted his head slightly, and for the first time there was a crack in that perfect stage confidence, something almost questioning in the way he watched Michael.
Waiting.
Michael could have backed away. Maybe he should have.
Instead, he stepped closer.
Nothing made him do it this time. Michael simply wanted to.
The singer's eyebrows rose, genuine surprise flashing across his face before Michael smiled at him. A second later, the singer smiled back.
Michael wasn't looking for him after the performance. He just happened to keep glancing toward the stage while people packed equipment away, then toward the side of the stage, then through the crowd as he wandered farther down the boardwalk. That wasn't looking. That was being aware of his surroundings.
"Hey."
Michael turned so quickly that he almost embarrassed himself.
Almost.
It took him half a second to recognize the singer because he'd changed clothes. The leather harness and loose gray tank were gone, replaced by a fitted pale tank beneath a black jacket that Michael immediately wanted to steal. It was a weird combination of glam rock, biker jacket, and something almost military, with textured fabric, dark lapels, patches and chevrons, and oversized cuffs that should have looked ridiculous but somehow didn't. The choker and gloves were still there, as was the blond hair and the face Michael had spent an embarrassing percentage of the performance staring at.
And leather pants.
Michael's eyes dropped before he could stop them.
There was a zipper.
There was a lot of zipper.
Michael looked back up immediately and found the singer smiling at him.
Fuck.
He'd noticed.
Michael decided they were both going to pretend that hadn't happened. "Hey."
"You enjoyed the show."
It wasn't a question, which immediately made Michael want to be difficult. He shoved his hands into his pockets and shrugged. "It was all right."
"All right?" The singer's smile widened. "That's why you spent half of it staring at me?"
Michael laughed. "You were staring at me."
"I was performing."
"To me, apparently."
That got him. Only for a second, but Michael saw it: something flickered behind the singer's eyes, the confidence slipping before the easy smile returned.
"David."
Michael blinked. "What?"
"My name."
Oh.
David.
Yeah. Michael liked that immediately, which was annoying.
"Michael."
"I know."
Michael frowned. "How?"
David was already turning away, apparently deciding questions were optional. "You coming?"
That did not answer the fucking question.
Michael followed him anyway.
It would occur to him later that David was remarkably good at doing that.
David was the first name Michael learned. There were three others, all of whom seemed to share David's complete inability to behave like normal people.
Paul was the drummer and easily the quietest of them, although he was also built enough that Michael decided fairly quickly he would prefer not to find out firsthand exactly how strong he was. Dwayne seemed determined to compensate for every word Paul didn't say, while Marko had the energy of somebody who had never once encountered a bad idea and thought maybe I shouldn't.
They were weird. Michael couldn't identify one particular thing that made him think that, because it was more like a collection of little things that didn't quite add up. Sometimes one of them would look at another and an entire fucking conversation seemed to happen without anyone saying a word. Paul especially appeared capable of communicating paragraphs by looking mildly annoyed. They were constantly touching each other too, shoving and grabbing and leaning against one another like personal space was something that happened to other people. Marko climbed halfway onto Dwayne at one point for absolutely no reason Michael could determine, and Dwayne barely reacted.
David was worse.
Or better.
Michael hadn't decided.
David kept touching him. Nothing huge, nothing Michael could reasonably object to without making it weird. A hand against his shoulder while passing behind him, fingers catching briefly around his wrist when Michael started in the wrong direction, an arm brushing his. Once, while Dwayne was talking, David reached over and casually fixed the collar of Michael's vest. Michael completely lost track of what Dwayne was saying.
David noticed.
The asshole smiled.
Michael's attention kept catching on the little silver dagger hanging from David's ear. At least, that was what he told himself he was looking at. The earring was easier to explain than the ear itself, because the longer Michael looked, the more certain he became that there was something strange about it. The upper edge tapered into a point that was just a little too sharp to be normal. Not costume-shop elf-ear ridiculous, just enough that Michael found himself staring and wondering whether people could naturally have ears shaped like that.
David caught him.
"What?"
Michael immediately looked at his face. "What?"
David smiled. "You keep looking at my earring."
"I looked at it once."
"Three times."
"You counting?"
"Maybe."
Michael rolled his eyes, but David was already reaching up to touch the little dagger, running one finger along it before looking thoughtfully at Michael's bare ear. There was something about that look Michael didn't trust.
"What?"
David's smile widened.
"Oh, no."
"Let's pierce your ear."
Michael stared at him. "Let's fucking what?"
"Your ear." David gestured toward it as though Michael might have misunderstood which body part he meant. "Let's pierce it."
"I know what you said."
"Then why'd you ask?"
"Because normal people don't decide to perform body modifications on somebody they've known for twenty minutes."
David glanced down at himself, then toward the others. "Do I look normal to you?"
Michael opened his mouth, considered the blond mullet, the choker, the fingerless glove, the absurdly good jacket and the leather pants with enough zipper to qualify as an invitation
"Fair."
David laughed and reached toward Michael's ear.
Michael caught his wrist.
David stopped immediately.
That was the thing. For somebody who seemed completely determined to invade every inch of Michael's personal space, he actually stopped when Michael stopped him. He didn't pull against Michael's grip or try to turn it into a joke. He simply waited, eyebrows raised, his wrist loose in Michael's hand.
Michael looked at the dagger again.
Then at David.
"This is a terrible idea."
"Probably."
"Do you even know what you're doing?"
"Probably."
"That answer got less reassuring the second time."
David grinned.
Michael sighed and released his wrist. "Fine."
Something bright flashed across David's face. "Yeah?"
"Before I change my mind."
David didn't give him the opportunity.
He stepped in close, one hand coming up to Michael's jaw before gently turning his head. Michael's heart immediately started doing something fucking stupid. It wasn't even the piercing yet. It was David's thumb resting against his cheek, his fingers beneath Michael's jaw, the casual certainty with which he'd moved Michael exactly where he wanted him.
"Hold still."
"That's reassuring."
"You talk a lot when you're nervous."
"I'm not nervous."
"Sure."
"Fuck you."
David laughed softly. "Hold still, Michael."
Michael did.
He felt David's fingers move over his ear, rubbing the lobe briefly between his thumb and forefinger as though deciding exactly where he wanted it. That should have been the moment Michael reconsidered the entire situation. He was standing on the Santa Carla boardwalk letting some blond fucking lunatic he'd met less than an hour ago pierce his ear because Michael had looked at his jewelry too many times.
His mother was going to love this place.
"You ready?"
"No."
David pierced it anyway.
"Fuck!"
Michael jerked, but David's hand was already steadying his jaw. The pain was sharp and immediate, his ear throbbing hot enough that his eyes watered slightly.
"You asshole!"
"You said fine."
"I also said I wasn't ready!"
"You would've kept saying that."
"That's generally when you're supposed to wait!"
David was laughing now, which did absolutely nothing to make Michael want to punch him less. Unfortunately, being this close made punching him considerably less appealing than several other options Michael's brain helpfully supplied.
Then Michael felt something warm against his ear.
Blood.
Not much, but enough that David noticed.
His expression changed.
Only for a moment.
His eyes fixed on the little bead of red gathering against Michael's earlobe, and something strange passed across his face, there and gone quickly enough that Michael couldn't name it. David reached for a handkerchief and pressed it carefully against the blood.
Michael hissed. "Ow."
"Baby."
"You just stabbed me."
"Pierced you."
"With a sharp object."
"That's generally how piercing works."
Michael flipped him off.
Dwayne laughed somewhere behind them and said something Michael couldn't quite hear, so Michael turned toward him, immediately distracted by whatever argument Dwayne was trying to drag him into. David's hand fell away from his ear, taking the handkerchief with it.
By the time Michael looked back, David seemed perfectly normal.
Well.
As normal as David apparently got.
Michael touched his sore ear carefully. "So what, I just have a hole in my ear now?"
David looked at him for a moment.
Then reached up and removed the dagger from his own.
Michael watched.
There was something strangely intimate about seeing it come free. Michael had spent half the concert watching that little piece of silver move beneath the stage lights. It belonged to David in Michael's mind already, part of the whole ridiculous image he'd first seen onstage.
David held it between his fingers.
Michael's eyes narrowed. "What are you—"
"Hold still."
"Again?"
David stepped closer.
Michael let him.
The earring slid through the fresh piercing with another sharp sting, and Michael sucked air through his teeth, but this time he managed not to jerk. David secured it carefully, fingers brushing Michael's ear before he finally stepped back.
"There."
Michael lifted his hand and touched the little dagger.
He stared at David. "Wait. That is yours."
David shrugged.
"You just pierced my ear so you could give me your earring?"
"You liked it."
"I was looking at it."
"Exactly."
"Those aren't the same thing."
David's smile turned smug. "You gonna take it out?"
Michael's fingers remained curled protectively around the dagger.
That asshole.
"No."
"Then I was right."
Eventually, the four of them led Michael away from the lights and noise of the boardwalk, down toward the beach and then underneath it. Michael followed until the wooden pilings swallowed most of the light, then stopped and looked around. Above them, the boardwalk was still alive, but the noise had softened into a distant mixture of footsteps, music and laughter while the ocean became louder, waves rolling against the shore somewhere beyond them.
"Huh."
David looked back. "What?"
"Why here?"
David spread his hands as though the answer were obvious. "It's a nice, quiet place on the water to get away from all of that up there, don't you think?"
Michael listened for a second. Actually, yeah. It was strangely peaceful beneath here, the ocean drowning out enough of the boardwalk that it almost felt like they'd stepped somewhere else entirely.
"Yeah."
"See?"
"Yeah," Marko said brightly, "and all the locals come here to make out."
Michael immediately looked at David.
David closed his eyes.
Paul moved before anyone else could say anything, hooking one thick arm around Marko's neck and dragging him sideways before grinding his knuckles into Marko's hair.
"Ow! Paul! Fuck!"
"Quit it."
"I was helping!"
"You weren't."
"How do you know?"
Paul released him with a shove, leaving Marko clutching his hair and swearing while Dwayne laughed openly. Michael joined him, and when he finally looked back at David, David was already watching him.
Again.
Michael's laughter slowly faded as that strange warmth curled beneath his ribs, much weaker than it had been during the performance but familiar enough that he recognized it. David smiled.
Michael looked away first.
"You play at all, Michael?"
Michael glanced toward the guitar. "Me? Nah. My dad played some."
Something in David's attention sharpened. "Never taught you?"
"Never got around to it, I guess."
Michael shrugged like it didn't matter, because there wasn't exactly a good answer to that question. His father had gotten around to plenty of things. Michael didn't particularly feel like explaining any of them to a guy he'd met tonight, especially not when the ache beneath his ribs was still there every time he twisted wrong or breathed too deeply, when he was still getting used to the relief of being several hundred miles away from him. So never got around to it was easier. It was true enough, anyway.
David didn't laugh.
Michael had expected him to. Or at least expected some smart-ass comment before they moved on, because that seemed to be how David handled almost everything. Instead, David looked at him for a second too long, his eyes dropping briefly before returning to Michael's face. Michael had the uncomfortable feeling that he'd somehow said more than he'd meant to.
Then David turned toward the others. "Well, no time like the present. Marko. Guitar."
Marko looked confused.
Michael almost laughed at that. Apparently, even Marko hadn't known they were doing guitar lessons tonight.
Still, he handed it over.
David immediately offered it to Michael. "Here. Put this on."
"Oh, no." Michael held up his hands. "I'm good."
David didn't lower the guitar. He just looked at Michael, one eyebrow rising slightly, and somehow that was enough to make refusing feel like backing down from a challenge Michael didn't remember agreeing to.
"Fine."
David grinned.
Asshole.
Michael pulled the strap over his head and immediately discovered that holding a guitar when you had absolutely no idea what you were doing felt considerably more awkward than musicians made it look. He wasn't even sure where his hands were supposed to go until David stepped in beside him, close enough that the sleeve of that ridiculous, gorgeous jacket brushed Michael's arm while he reached across toward the neck of the guitar.
"Here."
David took Michael's hand and positioned his fingers against the strings. His hands were cool, enough that Michael noticed it, although he was considerably more distracted by how close David had gotten.
"Put your fingers here. And here. Now strum."
Michael did.
A chord rang beneath the boardwalk.
He looked up, surprised. "Huh."
Dwayne laughed. "Already plays better than Marko."
"Fuck you," Marko said as the others laughed, and Michael found himself laughing with them.
David adjusted his fingers again. "Now here, here, here, and here. Again."
Michael strummed another chord. It sounded like an actual chord too, which was considerably more than he'd expected from himself five minutes ago.
"You just strum," David told him. "Let me do the neck."
That was easier. David stayed beside him for the first few chords, working the neck while Michael concentrated on keeping the strumming steady. It made sense while David was doing half the work. Michael could handle moving his hand up and down while somebody who actually knew what he was doing turned it into music.
Then David moved away.
Michael felt the absence of him immediately.
David crossed around until he stood directly in front of Michael, leaving several feet between them. Michael's instinct was to look down at the guitar now that he was suddenly responsible for the damn thing, but David mimed the strumming motion and Michael followed.
It worked.
"You got it, Michael."
Michael very much doubted that. His eyes dropped toward the strings.
"Don't look at the strings. Look at me."
Michael looked at him.
Of course he fucking did.
David had been successfully getting him to do increasingly questionable things all night simply by looking at him like that, and apparently attempting to play an instrument he'd never touched before without watching his own hands was next on the list. David mimed another strum, Michael followed him, and somehow the chord came out clean.
Then David started singing.
The song was slow, so slow that there was no frantic energy for Michael to hide inside. Each beat had room to exist before the next one came, the chords hanging beneath the boardwalk while David's voice moved through the spaces between them. Onstage that voice had been big enough to fill the entire boardwalk. Here, without speakers and screaming crowds between them, it felt more intimate, almost unsettlingly so.
David mimed the motion.
Michael strummed.
Their eyes stayed locked.
David sang about waiting all night if he had to, fighting if that was what it took, wanting someone even if they were the running kind. Michael smiled despite himself because Jesus Christ, subtle. Maybe it was just the song. Probably was. David hadn't exactly written an entire number about Michael in the hour since they'd met.
Probably.
David smiled back as though he knew exactly what Michael was thinking.
Michael's fingers shifted to the next chord.
He didn't look down.
That should have been harder than it was.
At first he was still following David's hands, using the mimed strumming as a visual guide while trying to remember where David had placed his fingers earlier. Somewhere along the way, though, Michael stopped needing to think so hard about it. The instrument didn't suddenly become familiar; it simply stopped feeling quite so foreign. His fingers found the next position before he had time to worry about whether they were right.
David sang.
Michael played.
There was something strange about the voice down here. Michael could feel it more than hear it sometimes, low notes settling into his chest and loosening something there. The more he listened, the less he worried about fucking up. He stopped anticipating every mistake before it happened, stopped holding his hand so stiffly, stopped trying to control every little movement.
"There you go," David said, looking genuinely pleased. "Nice. Feel the strings, don't fight them."
Michael relaxed his hand.
The next chord came easier.
"We got you."
The others' voices rose around him, a long harmony rolling beneath the boardwalk, and Michael laughed softly because this was fucking incredible. His father could do this. His father had been able to do this Michael's entire childhood and had never once sat down with him and shown him how.
Never got around to it.
Whatever.
Michael was doing it now.
David's hand moved through the air again and Michael followed, strumming on the beat. David kept singing, Michael kept playing, and somewhere in the middle of it David stopped miming the motion.
Michael didn't notice.
He just kept going.
By the time he did glance down, mostly because he couldn't quite believe what his own hands were doing, the progression had become familiar enough that he didn't immediately lose it. His fingers moved, the strings vibrated beneath them, and an actual fucking song came out.
"There ya go," David said. "Screw your dad, right?"
The others' voices swelled around them.
Michael laughed. "You said it, not me."
Another swell of voices answered him, and David's grin widened.
"You're a natural."
That was enough to make Michael suddenly self-conscious. He looked down at the guitar. "I don't know about that."
"All you need is a little encouragement."
Michael smiled at the strings and played again.
What the fuck?
He became absorbed in it after that. It was difficult not to. He had never made music before, not really, and there was something addictive about feeling the strings vibrate beneath his fingertips and knowing he had caused the sound filling the space around them. He didn't notice the others moving because he wasn't looking at them. He didn't notice that Marko had drifted closer, or that Dwayne was no longer where he'd been a minute ago, or that Paul had stopped watching Michael's hands.
Why would he?
There was nothing to notice.
Michael was underneath the boardwalk with four weird guys he'd met after a concert, learning guitar from the gorgeous singer who had spent most of the night flirting with him. That was already strange enough without inventing reasons to make it stranger.
His breathing quickened as he concentrated on the progression.
"Breathe, Michael."
Michael inhaled without thinking.
David's voice softened. "Never stop breathing."
Michael exhaled, slow and easy, his shoulders loosening as another breath came naturally behind it. His fingers stayed steady. The others' voices rose around David's as the final part of the song began, and Michael let himself fall back into the rhythm.
Something changed.
He couldn't have said what.
The strange warmth that had settled beneath his ribs loosened, and for a moment Michael became abruptly aware of everything again. The cool air beneath the boardwalk, the weight of the guitar against his body, the slight ache beginning in unfamiliar muscles in his hand. His fingers stumbled over the next change.
"Shit."
Michael laughed at himself, looked down long enough to correct the mistake, and found the progression again.
When he looked up, David was staring at him.
Not smiling.
Just staring.
Michael wasn't sure what that expression meant, so he smiled.
Then he kept playing.
Something moved across David's face so quickly that Michael couldn't catch it. Surprise, maybe, although he had no idea what he'd done that was surprising. David's eyes flicked briefly past Michael before returning to him, and Michael almost looked over his shoulder to see what had caught his attention.
Then the final refrain hit and Michael forgot about it.
The last chord rang out beneath the boardwalk, vibrating through the body of the guitar and into Michael's chest. For a second he just stared down at his hands.
"Holy shit."
He laughed. "I just fucking played guitar."
Dwayne made a sound that might have been a laugh, and Michael finally looked up.
All four of them were staring at him.
Michael's smile faded slightly. "What?"
"Nothing," David said.
Michael narrowed his eyes. "There it is again."
David's mouth twitched. "What?"
"You guys keep doing that."
"Doing what?"
"Having entire fucking conversations that apparently I'm not invited to."
Marko looked at David.
David looked back.
Michael immediately pointed between them. "That! You're literally doing it right now!"
Dwayne laughed openly. Paul looked down, but not quickly enough to hide the smile pulling at his mouth.
"You're all fucking weird."
"Weird?" David repeated.
"Yes."
"Thank you," Marko said.
"Wasn't a compliment."
"Still taking it."
David stepped closer, and Michael's attention returned to him with embarrassing ease.
"Maybe you like weird."
Michael became acutely aware of the little dagger swinging from his ear.
"Maybe."
David smiled.
Michael forgot what he'd been complaining about.
Eventually David took the guitar away from him, and Michael was surprised by how reluctant he was to give it up. An hour ago he'd never held one. Now his fingers felt strangely empty without it.
"You'll survive," David told him.
"Fuck you."
"See? Feeling better already."
Michael laughed and looked toward the opening beneath the boardwalk. He should probably go. He had no idea what time it was anymore, and actually, he wasn't entirely sure how long he'd been down here in the first place. Time seemed strange around these guys.
Around David, mostly.
Michael looked at him. "Am I gonna see you again?"
The question came out before he could make it sound less eager.
Dwayne made a noise.
Paul elbowed him.
Michael ignored both of them.
David's expression softened. "If you want."
Michael thought about the concert and the way everything had slowed when David looked at him. He thought about the dagger hanging from his newly pierced ear that had belonged to David a few hours ago, about following four complete strangers underneath a boardwalk because apparently self-preservation had taken the evening off. He thought about Marko helpfully announcing that people came down here to make out, David's hands over his on the guitar, being told not to look at the strings but at David instead, and somehow playing a fucking instrument he'd never touched before.
There were probably thirty different reasons Michael should say no.
"Yeah," he said. "I want."
David smiled.
"Then probably."
Michael headed toward the beach, making it several yards before something made him look back.
The four of them were still beneath the boardwalk, but the easy atmosphere had changed. Marko was talking animatedly, hands moving as he said something Michael couldn't hear. Dwayne answered him while Paul stood slightly apart from them, his attention fixed entirely on David. Marko gestured toward the beach.
Toward Michael.
Michael slowed.
David shook his head.
Marko said something else. Whatever it was, David answered sharply enough that even from this distance Michael saw Marko stop.
Okay.
Weird.
Michael was considering whether he should go back and ask what the fuck they were talking about when David looked up and caught him staring.
Their eyes met.
Some part of Michael expected the world to slow again.
It didn't.
There was no strange warmth wrapping around his ribs this time, no invisible pull drawing him back beneath the boardwalk. There was only the ocean behind him, the noise of the boardwalk above them, three extremely fucking weird men watching their friend and one gorgeous blond singer looking directly at Michael.
Michael smiled.
David smiled back.
That was enough.
Michael turned toward home with more questions than he'd had at the beginning of the night and absolutely no answers. He didn't know why Marko had looked confused when David suddenly decided Michael was learning guitar, or why the others had moved around so much during the song. He didn't know what had passed between them at the end, why they had all been staring at him, or why an argument had started almost immediately after he walked away. He definitely didn't understand what had happened during the performance, when the entire world had seemed to slow around one blond singer who shouldn't have been able to make Michael feel like the only person standing in a crowd of hundreds.
And he still wasn't entirely convinced David's ears were normal.
Maybe he'd figure it out the next time he saw them.
Because there was going to be a next time. Michael had already decided that much.
All four of them were weird. Paul was weird, Dwayne was weird, and Marko was definitely fucking weird.
David was something else entirely.