#BandFantasy2.0

[bowie-byers]

Band Fantasy 2.0

Paul Johnson x Cole Montgomery @waldenwritess

Thread #1: Cole's Dingy Y/N Band Fanfic

Paul held the guitar high on his abdomen. The pick guard had fallen off the mahogany body a long time ago – fingers calmly strumming down against a scratchy patch of unvarnished wood. He was gearing up for his last song of the night, bar cheering lightly as he transitioned out of his final original tune. With these occasional solo nights, he preferred to end the evening with a cover – mostly as an ode to the crowd. Dingy bars had a tendency to hum along, which was a nice change of pace from radio silence. “Some of you out there might know this next one.” Paul spoke softly into the microphone, flopping sweaty bangs away from his forehead. He proceeded to move the capo down on the fret of his guitar. It gave him an opportunity to break. “I picked it up while driving down the coast last summer – If you know it, I’d love to hear you sing along.” He caught a drift of pink in the crowd, not entirely registering what it was, but stuck on the colour for a moment longer as he began plucking the intro of Bruce Springsteen’s I’m on Fire. Pub dwellers were slow to recognize it. Paul's cover was even more subdued than the original, without a beat to support gravely vocals. His eyes closed in preparation to sing, chest leaning forward into the microphone stand. “Hey little girl / is your daddy home? / did he go and leave you all alone? / I got a bad desire / oh, oh, oh, I’m on fire.” – A coy smile formed. He peered through bangs obscuring his vision, finally glancing back into the crowd. “Tell me now baby is he good to you? / And can he do to you the things that I do? oh no / I can take you higher / oh, oh, oh, I’m on fire [...]” His sweep of the audience halted as he landed on a group of women singing along by the bar. His eyes fluttered away, once more taken off guard by the distracting mop of pink hair.

Maybe it was the power of sticking out in a sea of mushy colours, but Paul stayed on them for a touch longer. Enough to take in their features - fully making eye contact now. It was comfortable for him. “At night I wake up with the sheets soaking wet / and a freight train running through the middle of my head / only you can cool my desire / oh, oh, oh, I’m on fire.” He held the stranger's gaze, head cocking back every so slightly to smirk - and also get a better look. The guy wasn't bad looking. Something about the other guy's stare gave him a hunch that it was mutual. The entire thing felt like a playful game of cat and mouse. He continued to power through the song - intermittently returning to find the splash of pink up until the final chorus. It felt nice for a change. He'd performed enough times to have experiences like these - chest weighed down by a curious pair of eyes in the crowd. It was all very much fleeting, but Paul's emotions always ran higher on stage. It wasn't abnormal for him. He managed to find them one last time before the song tapered off, completely exhausted. Paul muttered a genuine “thank you – have a good night!” to the crowd before darting off the stage to find his hard case by the bar, brain completely overridden with pink. Paul brushed it off as he slid his trusted purple pick between his lips, knees bending to tuck away the instrument.