𝙎𝙏. 𝙀𝙄𝙂𝙃𝙏𝙀𝙀𝙉 . TIMOTHEE CHALAMET

𝙏𝙒𝙊 !

♪

"Going on with my little introduction, I'm the bassist as well— I mean, you probably could by this big ass bass guitar I have on me," Saffie continued.

She pointed at the drums, "This is our drummer boy, Alexai," he subtly waved, "He's a bit shy," she said, and the crowd chuckled. Next, she pointed at him. He quickly looked up and promptly scrunched his eyes as he got blinded by the shining spotlight, "Our pretty guitarist, Timothee. It's with double 'E,' ladies! Don't get it wrong!"

I wasn't too far from the actual stage— well, it wasn't even a stage. It was just a small platform in front of the enormous living room. Alexai quickly noticed me and waved again with a goofy smile. The band was about to start when Saffie interrupted again, "and sorry, one last thing, we are a cover band for now, but maybe we'll make some songs later. Well, this is Drain You by the one and only Nirvana!"

Timothee, with the double 'E,' began to start the guitar riff. The crowd swayed to the melody, "One baby to another says, 'I'm lucky to have met you,' " Saffie sang.

Her voice was husky yet sweet. Her presence was powerful and apparent. It wasn't something you could just walk by. The crowd seemed enchanted as she yelled into the mic, "With eyes so dilated, I've become your pupil. You taught me everything about a poison apple."

I, personally, liked this song. I was an avid listener of Nirvana. They were my #3 most listened artist for my Spotify wrapped last year, but I kept it to myself as I didn't want to seem like those mass manipulator men. I kept a lot of things to myself— like how I bit the skin around my nails whenever I got stressed and how whenever I would paint, it would get in the small crevices of my cuts. I hated it. It would take days and multiple showers for the paint to fade away. If I were to scrub at my wound impatiently, I would end up biting off even more and with a bloody mess.

"Chew your meat for you. Pass it back and forth. In a passionate kiss. From my mouth to yours. Sloppy lips to lips. You're my vitamin. I like you," She smiled into her mic as the song began to die. The crowd cheered for the rockstar that stood before them.

"Thank you! You guys flatter me too much," She smiled, "Next song is... chosen by our cheeky guitarist, 'Dirty Boots' by Sonic Youth!" A person in the crowd whistled, and I saw a slight smirk appear on the curly-haired boy's face.

He played his guitar so effortlessly as his fingers began stringing the melody. The stage burned with passion. It smelled like passion. He was passion. He seemed to love playing his guitar. He loved doing the things he did. It made me feel uncomfortable. I bit my bottom lip, beginning to feel an indescribable uneasiness. A part of me wanted to leave, yet I stood mesmerized by not his talent but his dedication, his drive, his spirit.

I hated it. I hated how I felt a rush of adrenaline as I watched him play. But I hated most how my face began to scowl and turn sour. I resented myself for feeling this way. I was selfish. I was jealous. I hated it.

•

The show soon ended, and the party resumed. The sex began and the blunts were burned. It was the same all over again. The band disappeared, presumably somewhere upstairs, and I still couldn't find my friends. Yui was probably getting high somewhere, and god knows where Elsie was.

I stood in the middle of the scene like the stranger I was. It was foolish of me to expect someone to come and get me. At the end of the day, we were all alone anyways. We were invited to this world alone and left by ourselves. If my eighteen years of living were enough for me to become aware of all these little things, I am truthfully terrified of the half-century more I have to endure in this lifetime. I wished to be a floating bubble, ceasing to exist even before knowing I was alive.