Cute, Cozy, Queer Stories

Part 24: Soren & Aren

Soren watched Aren's fingertips glide over the strings of the polished white guitar. He was glad they hadn't brought their own. There was something almost erotic about watching Aren's hands move across the neck of his guitar.

Aren was a better guitarist than he was, but that wasn't surprising. So was Wolf. And, just like Wolf, Aren was lead guitarist for their band, Unschuldsengel. Except, Soren knew Wolf wouldn't have stayed when there were no drugs and no whiskey. Aren, he was fairly certain, wouldn't have stayed if he did have drugs or alcohol.

"Are you going to play something?"

Soren blinked, straightening. "Huh?"

"You've been hitting that same chord for ten minutes."

"Oh." He leaned forward, about to reach for a whiskey glass that wasn't there. Realizing, he adjusted the guitar in his arms and played a series of slow, dark chords.

Aren swept their long, bleached-orange mohawk out of their face. Their deep brown gaze, shadowed and lined in black, caught Soren's. "Or were you playing one of your tough songs?" Aren angled a wry smirk at him, their snakebite piercings glinting on their red lips.

Soren shook his head a bit. "What?"

"Eisengel tracks aren't exactly a challenge to play."

Soren scoffed a laugh. "Well. You're not wrong." He played across the neck of the guitar, avoiding Aren's eyes. There was something disarming about their gaze. "But there's something to be said for simplicity."

"I didn't mean it like that. I like your music. You write the songs, right?"

"I write the lyrics. Wolf and Vonk write the music, mostly, but we all do a part."

Aren started on an invigorating solo that Soren recognized. "Me and Silber mostly write the music. Moira does the lyrics. Or, we did." They frowned down at the guitar.

Soren patiently strummed chords, making a rhythm behind Aren's solo. "Pandemic was great for your band too, eh?"

Aren scoffed. "Yeah, it was great. I was stupid enough to move in with Silber. Moira hated it. She was absolutely right about him and I should've listened. But we somehow managed to make an album." The solo slowly died. "So, there's that."

Soren nodded, moving down an octave to match the darkness in Aren's guitar. "Sounds familiar."

Aren angled a look at him again, playing and studying him at the same time. "What happened with you?"

Sighing, Soren shook his head. "Same shit as always."

"Okay." Aren kept playing, moving between sad and hopeful notes.

Soren considered how much he wanted to tell. It seemed like such a pathetic story, and he knew he was to blame. And he didn't want to be a villain in Aren's mind. Still, something about their seemingly indifferent mien, listening without prying, made Soren want to tell the truth. And he thought Aren might understand. He recognized Aren's hard weariness; a knowledge of their own, and others', lost worth.

"They asked me to stop drinking and drugging. And I didn't." He looked down at the strings, feeling Aren's eyes on him. "I fucked it up." He pressed his teeth together, trying to show nothing. "Oldest story, eh?"

"Who else does it?"

He glanced up. "Hm?"

"It's never just one person. Who's the other one? In your band? Or is it everyone?"