AU || Cairo Lucia Santiago is on break from university. Bradley Will Simpson wants to get his big break in the music industry. Together, they go on a roadtrip around the UK, where they busk their hearts out and discover more about their lost selves...
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trigger warning: anxiety
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📌 Glasgow, Scotland, UK
After finding a spot where we could park the car while he's busking, Brad and I went off to look for a good place that had a fair amount of decent people.
"You alright?" Brad asked me. He must've noticed that I kept rubbing my hands and putting them on my ears to warm them up, seeing that while I didn't forget to wear the sweater that I knit myself, I forgot to wear the matching bonnet.
"Not really. I didn't expect it to be this cold. My ears are freezing."
"Oh. Here," Brad said as he removed the maroon beanie that he was wearing, making us stop in the middle of the sidewalk as he tried to put it on my head, but I refused.
"Sorry. I have this thing where I can imagine traces of your hair's grease seeping through mine. It's gross; I don't want that."
Brad blinked twice to verify if I was joking, and when he saw that I was not, he proceeded to dig through his bag, then he handed me a gray beanie.
"I washed this two days ago. Didn't use it on my head since."
"So why is it in your backpack and not in your suitcase?" I asked, then Brad laughed as he put it on me.
"I use it as a place where I can put my most important belongs in, so if I ever get in trouble, I could just ask for my beanie and run, and the thieves won't know that my most important stuff is with me."
"So, I took your emergency bag?"
"Yes. But, luckily, people are generally nice around here, so, hopefully, I won't need it."
"You say that as if a guy didn't try to steal your earnings yesterday."
"He was nice, Cai. It just so happened that he needed the money," Brad said before grabbing his guitar case from the ground, then we continued walking.
"Thank you for this, by the way. I don't feel as cold anymore."
"Anytime."
Brad and I did the same as we did yesterday, only, this time, I was sat on a nearby bench making poems as I listened. I stopped, however, when he started to sing a song that was all too familiar to me.
Yellow by Coldplay. Of all fucking songs.
At that moment, I dropped my pen and looked at Brad, who sang with deep emotions and a burning passion for love. I wanted to admire him for the way he sang and for the way he would hit the notes perfectly yet flawlessly, but the song was a red flag. Despite its melodic tune and its metaphorical lyrics, which I adored, it was a song I wished I never heard again.
