For Once I Sang A Tune (1) (Mavid)
Title: For Once I Sang a Tune (1/23)
Author: Riversorrowdh
Overall Rating: R
Chapter Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I own nothing and no one, hence this is entirely fiction.
Summary: I don't really know how to summarize it, but basically it's set in a future world in which war is the key to survival. It gets a lot more complicated than I can explain without giving the entire plot away. Completely AU
AN: Many thanks to my beta, kscopi! Comments are loved! Hope you enjoy it!
How is it that memories never seem real until they’re behind you? In all certainty, David would have never survived this long if it hadn’t been for his music. For him, it's music that opens the door to his heart and lets the pain flow out, it makes him feel alive, and that causes his stomach to churn in a crazy mix of excitement and anxiety as he steps onto the stage.
He glances over at Andrew, who stands tall at the keyboard, pushing his glasses up to the bridge of his nose. David’s little brother looks over, smiling encouragingly and giving him a double thumbs up. David shakes his head and smiles at nothing, dismissing a fraction of his nerves. Andrew’s bravery against his own doubts and anxieties never fails to amaze him.
To David’s left is his best friend. Michael grips his guitar with white knuckles, his face strained with concentration. And even though Michael smiles widely when he notices his friend staring at him, David’s glad to know that he’s not the only nervous wreck. Taking a deep breath, David walks the two steps to the microphone and holds its neck with both of his shaking hands as the curtain rolls up.
The club is packed, applause reverberating off the walls and back again, making David’s ears ring. At 20, this was exactly where he wants to be: onstage with his brother and best friend, in front of a crowd of avid music lovers. He smiles to himself as Michael’s bass starts; and his eyes slide closed and a small fire ignites from within his heart. David holds his father’s old Les Paul, and as he plays the music intensifies. David’s very soul shakes with ever note, pulsating with the beat as if it were the very blood coursing through his veins. The lyrics appear in his head, just as well jumping along with the music. David lets all the emotion, all the pent up excitement hiding inside of him out, and he swears he breathes smoke as the words flow from his lips.
Lost in his euphoria, David barely notices the consistent nudging at his shoulder.
“Dave?”
The music grows quiet as the memory of his band’s first live concert slowly fades away. David’s heart pounds as if he’d actually traveled back in time. The living room came into focus and so does Michael Johns, sitting next to him on the couch.
“What’s up?”
Michael says nothing, only gestures toward the television set.
“Another broadcast?” David asks, his pulse finally returning to normal. He sits upright and turns his attention to the television set and the official-looking man delivering the news.
“…bodies are being deported back to their original homelands at the earliest convenience.” He pauses to look sternly into the camera. “May this be a grave reminder to all foreigners currently residing in the United States. You will be found and by law there are serious repercussions for having been in this country illegally.”
David tunes out the rest of the broadcast and looks instead at man next to him. Michael was staring at the television blankly, his eyes unfocused. David reaches out and claps his friend on the back, his hands stinging almost painfully at the contact. “Hey, man…” Words fail him as he thinks of how lucky they’ve been so far, when so many families have been torn apart. Michael shifts to face David.
“What? You can’t tell me that we’ll be okay, David. You heard that; I’ll be caught.” Until all this started, David had never given Michael’s smooth Australian accent much notice; but now it’s plain to anyone with ears that Michael is the odd one out.
“This is bullshit.” David looks over Michael’s shoulders to see Andrew leaning against the door frame, arms crossed and his eyes looking darkly at the newscaster. “You know what?” Andrew walks past the television and sits on the coffee table across from them, so close that he connects all three of their legs so they became almost one entity. “We can fix this. All we need to do is work on your accent.”
Michael smiles and David can only guess that he’s put his fears aside for the moment. Andrew flashes his dorky, somehow comforting smile and patted Michael on his knee. “ ‘Atta boy.”
At first, David is only inclined to sit back and watch as Andrew stresses his vowels so Michael could imitate him. Occasionally, David offers up a hint or a smile and an encouraging word to Michael as he struggles, but even as he tries to be of more help, David finds that his voice has frozen in his throat. His stomach churns uncomfortably, the feeling of despair washing over his body and mind. He contemplates just walking out of the room in order to let his tears fall, but Michael turns toward him, a gentle smile on his face. David’s stomach settles; calmed by the hopeful look on the Australian’s face. He smiles back - tentative, but genuine. As he looks away, David wants to beg him not to.
He doesn’t know just how much time passes, but eventually the other two end up in a fit of giggles, falling on top of each other. David smiles, wanting to laugh with them, wanting to feel some sort of normality in his life, if only for a brief time. David watched as Michael wiped his eyes, a big grin plastered on his face. “Thanks, man,” he manages. “I needed that.” Andrew smiles and nods, his eyes still glistening with laughter.
Michael grabs his bag and David’s heart wrenches with fear. He tries desperately to tell Michael no, stay. We’ll protect you. But again, his voice fails him.
Andrew disappears into the bathroom and still David sits on the couch, Michael towering over him. David’s fear is replaced by another wave of calmness as Michael leans over the coffee table to touch his shoulder. He caught a quick whiff of Michael’s cologne and tries to keep the scent with him.
“Mate,” says Michael quietly, his voice nearly drained of emotion. David opens his eyes to find his friend looking at him, his eyes speaking a language that only the two of them can understand. “Walk me to the front door?”
David nods and lets Michael pull him up from the sofa. His stomach flips again with uncertainty - David soon finds himself taking deep breaths and concentrating on the gentle swinging of Michael’s arms as he walks.
“Well,” Michael says as he pulls open the front door. “I’ll see you on Wednesday?” Michael’s voice, no matter how much they try to keep themselves in a positive tone, is filled with a wariness that is only customary for them.
David musters up the strength for one quiet word - “yeah.” Michael shifts his weight and looks nervously out the door, then back at David. As he leans in closer David feels his breath stop short in his throat. He forces himself to swallow, the lump in his throat diminishing only for a second. As he waits, nervous but strangely excited, David’s mind spins in circles, going nowhere, as he savors the moment, engraving it into the stone of his memory.
“Don’t forget to lock the doors,” Michael murmurs into David’s lips in an anticlimactic moment that shatters any fantasy David’s unconscious had thought up in that one minute. David nods and waits in the threshold for the last trace of Michael - his taillights - to be gone from his sight.
End Chapter 1