We Said We'd Start a Band (1/1)
this has been rolling around in my head for almost a month. not quite like i pictured it would go, cause i got lazy, but close enough to kick it out of the nest.
We Said We'd Start a Band
j2; band au;
pg13;
2500k;
based on "i saw it on your keyboard," hellogoodbye [mediafire dl]
Jared feels the rip in the fabric of his comforter as it catches on his elbow. He lies there, scooted close to the wall so Jensen has enough space to stretch out. The Sony stereo in the corner is loud enough to vibrate the picture frame on Jared’s night stand. They lie there, eyes closed, listening.
All three windows in Jared’s room have their blinds pulled up. Outside, the afternoon light is blunted by rain clouds. Spring is sopping wet and has the color of rich, nourished silt. Things will be growing soon. Every day it’s a little warmer.
A modest stack of school books are stacked on the floor, unopened, forgotten. Instead, they’re listening to “3 Libras.” It makes Jared’s heartbeat go slow and dumb. It makes his lungs open wider, makes his thoughts settle like dust.
Jensen is humming low in his throat, following the curves of the violin strings, following the running notes of a voice stretched with emotion. He’s lost, drifting. Jared trails after him, growing sleepy, starting to dream.
“My dad got me a guitar this week,” Jensen says.
“You wanted a piano,” Jared says.
“Right.”
“Well, whatever. Doesn’t matter.”
“Exactly.”
“Should we do this?” Jared asks, squinting into the sun.
“We could,” Jensen replies.
“Yeah, but.”
“It’s what you wanted, right? All I ever wanted. It got us to start talking. Two years, we’ve been talking about it.”
Jared sighs. “Well, yeah, but.”
The bell rings, and it’s loud because Jared sits right underneath it during his AP World Lit class. It’s lunch; second wave. Jensen will be there. He shoves one notebook away, pulls out the other, and heads to a locker that isn’t his. Jensen will be there.
“Got a new song,” Jared says as soon as he’s close enough.
“Good, ‘cause I reserved a room for the lunch hour. Let me put this away and we’ll go try it.”
“Mike asked what we were working on; asked if he could come.”
Jensen looks up for a moment, mouth closed. Turns back to shoving his books at the bottom of his locker. After patting uselessly at his pockets, he closes his locker. Doesn’t look at Jared as he nods for them to head down the hallway.
“Well,” Jensen says. “He’s your friend. It’s up to you.”
“It’s up to us. This isn’t mine. It’s ours.”
“Oh, well, I don’t care either way. If you want.”
Jared bites his lip, hesitating, not wanting to say too much. He looks at Jensen’s profile briefly as they start down the stairs to the ground level of the school. He immediately knows what he has to say, however dumb it might sound.
“I was kind of hoping not. You know, just for now.”
Jensen says, “Okay, sure.”
And when Jensen pushes the door to the music room open and looks back at Jared, the smile that lights his eyes is exactly what Jared had been hoping to see.
“What will we do when we graduate?”
“Keep playing.”
“Start a band?”
“Maybe. I still need a piano.”
The thing about college is, Jared didn’t plan on having 8:30’s.
He’s failing his political theory class by the time he suggests to Jensen that they try to wrap their practice sessions a little earlier.
“I’m not saying let’s not have them,” Jared says.
“Right, no, I get it,” Jensen says.
It’s almost eleven when Jared drags himself back to the dorms. No messages on the white board; it’s been blank for so long that Jared doesn’t even have feelings about it anymore. His roommate, Aldis, is out but left all the lights and the television on.
Jared drops his backpack on the floor, strips off his jacket, shuts everything off, and falls asleep on his bed with all his clothes on. His cell phone rings, but it’s in his bag, and he doesn’t know exactly where, so he ignores it. “God Save the Queen” starts again, and then again, and then finally falls silent. Jared sleeps.
“Hey man, what’re you doing tonight? I finally have some time; you interested in getting together?”
“Man, I already told Chris I’d go to some party with him. Otherwise I totally would. I’ll call you soon, we’ll figure out another time.”
Two years pass before Jared remembers that he and Jensen used to talk every single day. He’s in the cafeteria with a load of Swedish meatballs and Sandy is asking him what he’s doing tonight, and he says, “I’m really sorry, Sandy, but I have plans tonight.”
Jared stays in that night. The dorms are quiet enough to hear spider steps. He keeps only his desk lamp lit, shoves all his books under his bed, and writes. And when he’s tired of writing, he sings. He hasn’t sung in so long that his voice feels like two hands being wrung together, but he keeps at it. It starts to get easier.
He writes a song, and then another one. And then another one. And then the sun comes up. He feels good again.
“Jared, man, what’re you doing here?”
“Got a new song.”
Jensen hesitates. Then: “I got a piano last year.”
“You didn’t tell me.”
“Some craigslist piece of shit. I didn’t really think - I kind of thought it was done. It’s been a while.”
“But you still got it.”
“Yeah, I still got it.”
When the car door slams outside, Jared’s head jerks up. He looks at the clock. Five. Never late. Always comes right home.
“98,” Jensen announces triumphantly when he walks in the door.
Jared grins. “And you were nervous about flunking it. You’re so fucking dumb.”
Jensen drops his bag and falls onto the couch with a whooshing sigh. Pumps a fist in the air and then shoves out of his sneakers. Jared spins in his desk chair, aims his back to the door, and then pushes off to roll into the living room. Swings around again to kick his feet up on the couch at Jensen’s hip.
“I’m totally graduating with honors in a month,” Jensen says, closing his eyes.
“And you’re totally gonna have to drag me kicking and screaming across the stage with you, ‘cause I’m about to fail yet another gen ed.”
“Please. Hurry up and finish that paper so we can practice.”
“Let’s just go now,” Jared tries. “I’ll finish it tonight when we get back.”
Jensen rolls his head along the back of the couch to smirk at Jared. “Finish it now. If you fuck up my summer by having to take another class I will kill you.”
Jared obediently rolls his chair back into his room, white socks slipping over the hardwood.
Jared writes another song:
I saw it on your keyboard
You saw it on my sleeve
He doesn’t show it to anyone.
Practice is good, practice is loud. Jared’s nerves are rattled, it was so intense. Jensen scoots out early to meet up with Chris for a beer. Jared and Mike stay to pack everything up and put Aldis’ parents’ garage back in order.
Jared’s re-tuning his guitar while Mike packs up the rest of his kit and sets it out of sight. Drumsticks shoved in his back pocket, he hovers over Jared, waiting, checking text messages.
“The band needs something,” Mike says.
“Yeah,” Jared agrees. “A bassist.”
“And something else.”
“A better singer?”
Mike laughs. “And something else.”
“A name.”
“Apparently Nothing. And something else.”
“Fans.”
“Jesus Christ, Jared, it needs you to turn your goo eyes from Jensen to the fucking audience. The girls don’t want you fucking Jensen; they want you fucking them.”
“Mike,” Jared says, throat tight.
“I’m not gonna say anything. But seriously, man. This is getting ridiculous.”
“It’s bad. I wrote a song about him. It is real bad.”
“Jesus fucking Christ. All right, let’s hear it, Romeo.”
“Goddamnit, Jared. You couldn’t be at least a little subtle, so we could play it? Fuck, that’s good. I want to play it. Maybe you could tweak it.”
“I’m not re-writing it.”
“I know, man.”
Jared pulls down a box of Kraft and a can of Ragu for dinner. Jensen looks on skeptically, sitting on the counter while Jared boils water and drinks a beer.
“Chris maybe wants to audition,” Jensen says after a while.
“He plays?”
“Yeah, he’s playing with another band right now but they’re on the rocks. Told him I’d talk to you.”
“He knows we suck, right.”
Jensen laughs. “Yeah, he knows we suck.”
“Well hell, call him then. Let’s play tomorrow night.”
Jensen puts on The Byrds while Jared finishes dinner. They eat in front of the television, feet kicked up, watching Wheel of Fortune. Jensen gets the final puzzle, but Jared will make up for it during Jeopardy.
Jensen says, “Damn, Jay. This almost tastes like Olive Garden.”
“Practically a date,” Jared agrees.
“I’m so easy.”
“Jared’s got a new song we should play.”
“You do?” Jensen asks.
Jared shakes his head because the subtext is, you played it for Mike and not me?
“It’s not anything,” Jared says quickly. “It’s nothing, seriously. Mike is being an asshole.”
“Well, maybe we could make it something,” Jensen says.
“No, really. It’s nothing.”
“Got anything else that’s something, then?” Chris asks, fingers idly skimming chords. “This is real good, let’s play all night.”
If only I knew the key to sing to make you mine
Jared’s chest is so full it hurts. Mike pushes him through on a hard, fast, steady rhythm. The crowd is small but they crowd in close, and reach up, and sing like a choir when Jared holds out the microphone.
He sweats; it pours off him and baptizes the audience every time he jumps. The lights have turned him into a firecracker. He’s hot, he explodes. He hollers. The crowd screams.
Mike shatters the cymbals and then is silent except for the steady beat of the kick drum. Jared wipes his face on the hem of his tee-shirt when the lights drop down to surround Jensen for a solo.
Keyboard solos are hilarious and silly, and awesome, they agree. And Jensen knows what he’s doing; doesn’t fuck around. His fingers move faster than Jared can keep track of; the techno sound spirals upward and breaks across the high ceilings of the club, bouncing around on its own echoes.
Jensen rounds out the solo to loud cheers from the crowd and then stops. Looks at Jared and smiles. The kick drum picks up. Jared catches the timing with his foot and follows as it begins to take flight. The cymbals start back in, quiet, then gaining volume. Jensen starts a slow set of ascending chords. Chris underlines with heavy, thudding bass.
With his back to the crowd Jared grins, heart pounding. Spins of the ball of his foot to face them. Light floods his vision white. He howls out one long, loud note to end the song and feels the sound and fury of his band behind him. Feels the energy and the eyes on his back. Feels like everything he ever wanted.
They stumble home close to four in the morning. Jared had been so drunk by the time the bar closed that he’d made them walk home. Two hours later, he’s sober and exhausted and guilty he dragged Jensen along for the pilgrimage.
“You’d probably be sleeping in a bush somewhere right now,” Jensen argues from his room, changing into sweatpants.
“And loving it,” Jared agrees.
Shoving down the dirty comforter, Jared crawls in bed. His eyes are closed for fifteen seconds before he hears Jensen close by, saying, “Not so fast.”
Jared opens an eye to see Jensen leaning against his door frame in a UT tee-shirt. Groaning, he picks himself up, asks: “What.”
“Play me that song.”
“No,” Jared says, suddenly alert.
“Why the fuck not? It’s driving me nuts. You’ve never not played me something before. You’ve never written something without showing me. Never.”
“I can’t. It’s not a big deal, I just can’t. It’s not ready.”
Jensen raises an eyebrow, staring hard at Jared. Then he pulls a notebook out from behind his back and says: “If you don’t play it, I’m going to just read it.”
Jared shoves out of bed and lunges at Jensen, who struggles to hold him off and keeps the book tucked into his chest, arms in tight so Jared can’t wrestle it off.
Jared begs: “Dude, don’t. Come on man, please don’t, it’s so awful, I swear to god it’s nothing, please just give it back. Come on!”
Jensen gives, lets Jared get hold of the notebook; steps away with a strange look on his face when Jared wrenches it from his grasp. Jared can feel his chest heaving in panic, can feel how wide his eyes are. He must look insane.
“Hey, I’m sorry, all right?” Jensen says softly, backing up toward the door. “I didn’t know it would be such a big deal.”
The room is quiet while Jared mentally berates himself. The notebook feels like nothing in his grasp.
Finally, he says: “If you really want to hear it, I’ll play it for you. But please keep in mind that it has the ability to completely destroy our friendship, and the band, and whatever image you might have of me.”
Jensen frowns. “Jay, what? Are you talking about. It’s just a song, right?”
Jared laughs, sighs, says, “Oh, god.”
His nerves jitter so hard that they hurt. He gets his guitar and sits on the floor. Jensen sits on the couch, staring curiously at him. He flexes his fingers, strums a few meaningless chords, trying to find his courage. It’s not there. He opens his mouth a time or two but nothing comes out.
“Jesus, Jared, come on. How bad can it be?”
Jared cuts a look at him from under the flop of hair messy on his forehead. Takes a long, deep breath and sings. His voice has never trembled, and his fingers have never been so weak. But he plays it anyway.
There exists a star above that always steals my stare
And there exists a star on stage that never seems to care
When he gets to the chorus, oh - oh - oh - ohoh, he hears Jensen laugh. And only then does he feel safe. He finishes the song with a smile.
“We have something to play for you guys.”
Mike grins.
Jared lies back on his bed, scooted close to the wall while Jensen tucks in around him. They’re listening to Rubber Soul and Jensen is singing along to “In My Life” without even realizing he’s doing it. Jared slips fingers into his hair, puts his mouth on Jensen’s neck to feel the hum on his lips.
“I love you more,” Jensen sings.
“Remember when we met?” Jared asks, nosing his jaw.
“Freshman year. We said we’d start a band together.”
"And we did."
"Eventually."
"And we said we’d be friends forever."
Jensen laughs, lifts up onto one elbow. Jared feels himself tense with anticipation, feels his chest grow warm and tight and then flutter uncontrollably. Lifts his chin when Jensen leans down, kisses him slow and deep, a thigh shifting over Jared’s.
Jared pulls him down, tucks him in, slots them together. Every time he feels Jensen take a breath, Jared takes it with him. They rise and fall in unison.
We Said We'd Start a Band
j2; band au;
pg13;
2500k;
based on "i saw it on your keyboard," hellogoodbye [mediafire dl]
Jared feels the rip in the fabric of his comforter as it catches on his elbow. He lies there, scooted close to the wall so Jensen has enough space to stretch out. The Sony stereo in the corner is loud enough to vibrate the picture frame on Jared’s night stand. They lie there, eyes closed, listening.
All three windows in Jared’s room have their blinds pulled up. Outside, the afternoon light is blunted by rain clouds. Spring is sopping wet and has the color of rich, nourished silt. Things will be growing soon. Every day it’s a little warmer.
A modest stack of school books are stacked on the floor, unopened, forgotten. Instead, they’re listening to “3 Libras.” It makes Jared’s heartbeat go slow and dumb. It makes his lungs open wider, makes his thoughts settle like dust.
Jensen is humming low in his throat, following the curves of the violin strings, following the running notes of a voice stretched with emotion. He’s lost, drifting. Jared trails after him, growing sleepy, starting to dream.
“My dad got me a guitar this week,” Jensen says.
“You wanted a piano,” Jared says.
“Right.”
“Well, whatever. Doesn’t matter.”
“Exactly.”
“Should we do this?” Jared asks, squinting into the sun.
“We could,” Jensen replies.
“Yeah, but.”
“It’s what you wanted, right? All I ever wanted. It got us to start talking. Two years, we’ve been talking about it.”
Jared sighs. “Well, yeah, but.”
The bell rings, and it’s loud because Jared sits right underneath it during his AP World Lit class. It’s lunch; second wave. Jensen will be there. He shoves one notebook away, pulls out the other, and heads to a locker that isn’t his. Jensen will be there.
“Got a new song,” Jared says as soon as he’s close enough.
“Good, ‘cause I reserved a room for the lunch hour. Let me put this away and we’ll go try it.”
“Mike asked what we were working on; asked if he could come.”
Jensen looks up for a moment, mouth closed. Turns back to shoving his books at the bottom of his locker. After patting uselessly at his pockets, he closes his locker. Doesn’t look at Jared as he nods for them to head down the hallway.
“Well,” Jensen says. “He’s your friend. It’s up to you.”
“It’s up to us. This isn’t mine. It’s ours.”
“Oh, well, I don’t care either way. If you want.”
Jared bites his lip, hesitating, not wanting to say too much. He looks at Jensen’s profile briefly as they start down the stairs to the ground level of the school. He immediately knows what he has to say, however dumb it might sound.
“I was kind of hoping not. You know, just for now.”
Jensen says, “Okay, sure.”
And when Jensen pushes the door to the music room open and looks back at Jared, the smile that lights his eyes is exactly what Jared had been hoping to see.
“What will we do when we graduate?”
“Keep playing.”
“Start a band?”
“Maybe. I still need a piano.”
The thing about college is, Jared didn’t plan on having 8:30’s.
He’s failing his political theory class by the time he suggests to Jensen that they try to wrap their practice sessions a little earlier.
“I’m not saying let’s not have them,” Jared says.
“Right, no, I get it,” Jensen says.
It’s almost eleven when Jared drags himself back to the dorms. No messages on the white board; it’s been blank for so long that Jared doesn’t even have feelings about it anymore. His roommate, Aldis, is out but left all the lights and the television on.
Jared drops his backpack on the floor, strips off his jacket, shuts everything off, and falls asleep on his bed with all his clothes on. His cell phone rings, but it’s in his bag, and he doesn’t know exactly where, so he ignores it. “God Save the Queen” starts again, and then again, and then finally falls silent. Jared sleeps.
“Hey man, what’re you doing tonight? I finally have some time; you interested in getting together?”
“Man, I already told Chris I’d go to some party with him. Otherwise I totally would. I’ll call you soon, we’ll figure out another time.”
Two years pass before Jared remembers that he and Jensen used to talk every single day. He’s in the cafeteria with a load of Swedish meatballs and Sandy is asking him what he’s doing tonight, and he says, “I’m really sorry, Sandy, but I have plans tonight.”
Jared stays in that night. The dorms are quiet enough to hear spider steps. He keeps only his desk lamp lit, shoves all his books under his bed, and writes. And when he’s tired of writing, he sings. He hasn’t sung in so long that his voice feels like two hands being wrung together, but he keeps at it. It starts to get easier.
He writes a song, and then another one. And then another one. And then the sun comes up. He feels good again.
“Jared, man, what’re you doing here?”
“Got a new song.”
Jensen hesitates. Then: “I got a piano last year.”
“You didn’t tell me.”
“Some craigslist piece of shit. I didn’t really think - I kind of thought it was done. It’s been a while.”
“But you still got it.”
“Yeah, I still got it.”
When the car door slams outside, Jared’s head jerks up. He looks at the clock. Five. Never late. Always comes right home.
“98,” Jensen announces triumphantly when he walks in the door.
Jared grins. “And you were nervous about flunking it. You’re so fucking dumb.”
Jensen drops his bag and falls onto the couch with a whooshing sigh. Pumps a fist in the air and then shoves out of his sneakers. Jared spins in his desk chair, aims his back to the door, and then pushes off to roll into the living room. Swings around again to kick his feet up on the couch at Jensen’s hip.
“I’m totally graduating with honors in a month,” Jensen says, closing his eyes.
“And you’re totally gonna have to drag me kicking and screaming across the stage with you, ‘cause I’m about to fail yet another gen ed.”
“Please. Hurry up and finish that paper so we can practice.”
“Let’s just go now,” Jared tries. “I’ll finish it tonight when we get back.”
Jensen rolls his head along the back of the couch to smirk at Jared. “Finish it now. If you fuck up my summer by having to take another class I will kill you.”
Jared obediently rolls his chair back into his room, white socks slipping over the hardwood.
Jared writes another song:
I saw it on your keyboard
You saw it on my sleeve
He doesn’t show it to anyone.
Practice is good, practice is loud. Jared’s nerves are rattled, it was so intense. Jensen scoots out early to meet up with Chris for a beer. Jared and Mike stay to pack everything up and put Aldis’ parents’ garage back in order.
Jared’s re-tuning his guitar while Mike packs up the rest of his kit and sets it out of sight. Drumsticks shoved in his back pocket, he hovers over Jared, waiting, checking text messages.
“The band needs something,” Mike says.
“Yeah,” Jared agrees. “A bassist.”
“And something else.”
“A better singer?”
Mike laughs. “And something else.”
“A name.”
“Apparently Nothing. And something else.”
“Fans.”
“Jesus Christ, Jared, it needs you to turn your goo eyes from Jensen to the fucking audience. The girls don’t want you fucking Jensen; they want you fucking them.”
“Mike,” Jared says, throat tight.
“I’m not gonna say anything. But seriously, man. This is getting ridiculous.”
“It’s bad. I wrote a song about him. It is real bad.”
“Jesus fucking Christ. All right, let’s hear it, Romeo.”
“Goddamnit, Jared. You couldn’t be at least a little subtle, so we could play it? Fuck, that’s good. I want to play it. Maybe you could tweak it.”
“I’m not re-writing it.”
“I know, man.”
Jared pulls down a box of Kraft and a can of Ragu for dinner. Jensen looks on skeptically, sitting on the counter while Jared boils water and drinks a beer.
“Chris maybe wants to audition,” Jensen says after a while.
“He plays?”
“Yeah, he’s playing with another band right now but they’re on the rocks. Told him I’d talk to you.”
“He knows we suck, right.”
Jensen laughs. “Yeah, he knows we suck.”
“Well hell, call him then. Let’s play tomorrow night.”
Jensen puts on The Byrds while Jared finishes dinner. They eat in front of the television, feet kicked up, watching Wheel of Fortune. Jensen gets the final puzzle, but Jared will make up for it during Jeopardy.
Jensen says, “Damn, Jay. This almost tastes like Olive Garden.”
“Practically a date,” Jared agrees.
“I’m so easy.”
“Jared’s got a new song we should play.”
“You do?” Jensen asks.
Jared shakes his head because the subtext is, you played it for Mike and not me?
“It’s not anything,” Jared says quickly. “It’s nothing, seriously. Mike is being an asshole.”
“Well, maybe we could make it something,” Jensen says.
“No, really. It’s nothing.”
“Got anything else that’s something, then?” Chris asks, fingers idly skimming chords. “This is real good, let’s play all night.”
If only I knew the key to sing to make you mine
Jared’s chest is so full it hurts. Mike pushes him through on a hard, fast, steady rhythm. The crowd is small but they crowd in close, and reach up, and sing like a choir when Jared holds out the microphone.
He sweats; it pours off him and baptizes the audience every time he jumps. The lights have turned him into a firecracker. He’s hot, he explodes. He hollers. The crowd screams.
Mike shatters the cymbals and then is silent except for the steady beat of the kick drum. Jared wipes his face on the hem of his tee-shirt when the lights drop down to surround Jensen for a solo.
Keyboard solos are hilarious and silly, and awesome, they agree. And Jensen knows what he’s doing; doesn’t fuck around. His fingers move faster than Jared can keep track of; the techno sound spirals upward and breaks across the high ceilings of the club, bouncing around on its own echoes.
Jensen rounds out the solo to loud cheers from the crowd and then stops. Looks at Jared and smiles. The kick drum picks up. Jared catches the timing with his foot and follows as it begins to take flight. The cymbals start back in, quiet, then gaining volume. Jensen starts a slow set of ascending chords. Chris underlines with heavy, thudding bass.
With his back to the crowd Jared grins, heart pounding. Spins of the ball of his foot to face them. Light floods his vision white. He howls out one long, loud note to end the song and feels the sound and fury of his band behind him. Feels the energy and the eyes on his back. Feels like everything he ever wanted.
They stumble home close to four in the morning. Jared had been so drunk by the time the bar closed that he’d made them walk home. Two hours later, he’s sober and exhausted and guilty he dragged Jensen along for the pilgrimage.
“You’d probably be sleeping in a bush somewhere right now,” Jensen argues from his room, changing into sweatpants.
“And loving it,” Jared agrees.
Shoving down the dirty comforter, Jared crawls in bed. His eyes are closed for fifteen seconds before he hears Jensen close by, saying, “Not so fast.”
Jared opens an eye to see Jensen leaning against his door frame in a UT tee-shirt. Groaning, he picks himself up, asks: “What.”
“Play me that song.”
“No,” Jared says, suddenly alert.
“Why the fuck not? It’s driving me nuts. You’ve never not played me something before. You’ve never written something without showing me. Never.”
“I can’t. It’s not a big deal, I just can’t. It’s not ready.”
Jensen raises an eyebrow, staring hard at Jared. Then he pulls a notebook out from behind his back and says: “If you don’t play it, I’m going to just read it.”
Jared shoves out of bed and lunges at Jensen, who struggles to hold him off and keeps the book tucked into his chest, arms in tight so Jared can’t wrestle it off.
Jared begs: “Dude, don’t. Come on man, please don’t, it’s so awful, I swear to god it’s nothing, please just give it back. Come on!”
Jensen gives, lets Jared get hold of the notebook; steps away with a strange look on his face when Jared wrenches it from his grasp. Jared can feel his chest heaving in panic, can feel how wide his eyes are. He must look insane.
“Hey, I’m sorry, all right?” Jensen says softly, backing up toward the door. “I didn’t know it would be such a big deal.”
The room is quiet while Jared mentally berates himself. The notebook feels like nothing in his grasp.
Finally, he says: “If you really want to hear it, I’ll play it for you. But please keep in mind that it has the ability to completely destroy our friendship, and the band, and whatever image you might have of me.”
Jensen frowns. “Jay, what? Are you talking about. It’s just a song, right?”
Jared laughs, sighs, says, “Oh, god.”
His nerves jitter so hard that they hurt. He gets his guitar and sits on the floor. Jensen sits on the couch, staring curiously at him. He flexes his fingers, strums a few meaningless chords, trying to find his courage. It’s not there. He opens his mouth a time or two but nothing comes out.
“Jesus, Jared, come on. How bad can it be?”
Jared cuts a look at him from under the flop of hair messy on his forehead. Takes a long, deep breath and sings. His voice has never trembled, and his fingers have never been so weak. But he plays it anyway.
There exists a star above that always steals my stare
And there exists a star on stage that never seems to care
When he gets to the chorus, oh - oh - oh - ohoh, he hears Jensen laugh. And only then does he feel safe. He finishes the song with a smile.
“We have something to play for you guys.”
Mike grins.
Jared lies back on his bed, scooted close to the wall while Jensen tucks in around him. They’re listening to Rubber Soul and Jensen is singing along to “In My Life” without even realizing he’s doing it. Jared slips fingers into his hair, puts his mouth on Jensen’s neck to feel the hum on his lips.
“I love you more,” Jensen sings.
“Remember when we met?” Jared asks, nosing his jaw.
“Freshman year. We said we’d start a band together.”
"And we did."
"Eventually."
"And we said we’d be friends forever."
Jensen laughs, lifts up onto one elbow. Jared feels himself tense with anticipation, feels his chest grow warm and tight and then flutter uncontrollably. Lifts his chin when Jensen leans down, kisses him slow and deep, a thigh shifting over Jared’s.
Jared pulls him down, tucks him in, slots them together. Every time he feels Jensen take a breath, Jared takes it with him. They rise and fall in unison.