Show me the stars that live in your eyes (A Maycury Story)

Chapter 1: Encounters

Music buzzes through each of his body parts. He closes his eyes, mouthing only slightly the words of the song he now knows by heart. He smiles when the part of the song he prefers starts, when the tempo increases, along with the beating of his heart. He takes a sip of his drink, not even wincing at the burning of the alcohol on his aching throat. Leaning against the counter of the bar, he lets the bass envelop him; he lets the guitar make him shiver from the base of his spine all the way to his neck. Music makes him vibrate, makes his long and exhausting life light up, even if only for a few minutes. Sometimes it makes him happy for days on end, when a melody repeats itself in his mind, over and over again. It makes him possessed with determination and he writes for hours until his whole mind feels empty. He has pages and pages filled with imaginary worlds, stories of characters he cherished, used as a source of comfort when he was only a kid. It always puts a smile on his face, he's never been prouder of anything and not even his father, who always made him abandon every passion he had, will make him lose his love for the only thing that got him through life, that made life worth living, worth fighting for.

He always dreamed of making this passion his job, of living through shows, through sore throats because of over exertion, through sleepless nights in the studio, making albums, perfecting them to the smallest details. He dreams of having his songs playing in clubs, on the radio, in commercials. He dreams of touring the entire world with friends, of it seeming like vacations when it's all work. He dreams of filled stadiums, people looking up at him, people cheering for him, people singing his songs to him. He dreams of proving to his dad that he can do it, that he's strong enough, good enough, talented enough. He dreams of proving old mocking acquaintances that they've been wrong about him, that he isn't only a buck-toothed immigrant with dreams way too big.

He likes to watch bands in bars, to listen to their music, to get inspiration. But this one is different, this one makes him feel things so much more strongly than any other band does. He listens to the drumming, to the bass, the guitar, wondering how his voice would sound like with them. They do look awfully boring, but Freddie can't bring himself to care when he just wants to make his voice harmonise with the musicians. He wishes he could just play a moment with them, put Tim, the singer, aside and replace him for a little bit, just to know what it feels like to belong, to have instruments backing his voice. He's never had that.

His eyes are always glued to the unnamed guitarist. The way he moves, the way he plays. His long curly hair always moves in every direction when he's concentrating, only focused on his playing, on the way his fingers move on the arm of the guitar. His voice, only heard when he sings the back vocals, mixed with the voice of the drummer, is soft, it doesn't have much power, but it has its own personality; it gets rougher sometimes, but it's soothing when he wants it to be. He's incredibly tall, lean, he dresses as boringly as the others, a T-shirt, the simplest blue jeans, and— and clogs, but Freddie has the feeling he isn't to be blamed. He makes him feel weird things, warmth when he sees him, cold when Freddie realises Smile isn't playing that evening and he won't get to watch the mysterious guitarist, he has a tingly feeling in his throat every time he sees him, he's never felt anything like that before.

When the music stops and the whole band goes backstage, Freddie follows to where they've gone. He at least needs to tell Tim he's been there one time. He convinces himself that it's the only reason he's going to see them. He takes his glass with him, alcohol dripping over the edges each time he takes a step. People around him start talking after a minute or two, Freddie can hear the critiques, some people loving the music, others thinking of how boring the show was. It brings a small, content smirk to Freddie's lips. He eventually sees the band, a couple meters away from him. He almost decides to walk back to the bar, anxiety hitting him when he sees the men talking to each other. He hates to intrude. But he's also tired of fearing and anticipating every conversation, he's fed up with his anxiety so he decides to walk towards them.