DRAG - [h.s. au]

67

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It cures the silence

Everyday I see you

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BENTLEY

Harry brought me to Ohio.

Fucking Ohio.

I wanted to go to the beach and he brought me to the American Midwest at the dawn of winter.

And yet, there's no place I'd rather be.

We had been walking around the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame for an hour now and still hadn't gotten to the Stevie Nicks exhibit. I was being a good sport about it all, especially considering I didn't really like music all that much.

I liked it when Harry sang and I liked a few Stevie songs too, but it was only because of him.

We've been sitting in the AC/DC section for awhile and the same damn song kept looping while he read every little plaque and took the time to examine the artifacts they'd kept in their archive.

Guitars, concert outfits, microphones... and a whole bunch of pictures. The screen embedded into the wall was guilty for the song playing, because it was streaming their performance from their inductions.

"What kind of rockstar wears shorts and calf high socks on stage?" I ask, making Harry turn around and look at me, my ankles crossed over each other as I sit on the bench at the center of the exhibit. "Aren't they all leather and cigarettes?"

He laughs a bit, running his ring covered fingers through his hair, but his ring finger which used to house the dancing bears, was bare. I looked down at my thumb for a second to admire the silver piece of jewelry for a moment before feeling his legs brush against mine.

"I'd say you're more leather and nicotine gum than they were. I mean, the frontman wore a paperboy cap every time they were on stage." He jokes. "They were more metal and cocaine."

"Weird."

"That's AC/DC for you."

I laugh before turning my gaze back to the ring on my finger, twisting it out of instinct.

"Why the bears?" I ask, pushing my other finger into the indents, pressing the outline of the metal bear onto it for a few seconds before the skin evened out.

"The Grateful Dead, it's their brand. They're in here somewhere." He says, making me look up at him, as he gestures towards the halls, a light smile on his face but his dimple deep as ever. "The bears aren't actually dancing, they're marching."

"They look like they're dancing." I tell him, taking his hand to help me stand up and follow him through to the next exhibition.

"I like to think they are." He returns, dragging me into the next room.

The entryway was covered in large faux flowers and I found myself wishing I recognized the song instantly, but I didn't. That voice, however, was unmistakable,

I tightened my grip on Harry's hand as he made his way towards the glass case that housed all of the outfits that Stevie once wore.

Delicate pastel and drastic black variations of the same skirts and camisoles adorned the mannequins and there were hats placed on a rack. The shawls, embroidered with vivid greens, reds, and yellows, were folded neatly and placed in frames on display.