Die In California

30

TW: that crappy smut I promised you 🥴

Devyn's POV:

A few hours passed by in a blur of birthday wishes and drinks, and before I knew it, it was 1am and I was standing on one of the tables, tipsily swaying along to the music whilst swigging my drink. The back doors of the function room had been opened to give access to the pool outside, people standing around smoking or cannonballing into the pool. But I couldn't care less; I was in my element stood on the table, bopping along to 'Alpha Omega'. Of course the boys had to include some of their own songs on the playlist.

"JPPP!!" I whined as I saw my best friend swagger back inside from smoking a blunt with Sketch - a surprising duo that somehow seemed to effortlessly work. He had a red solo cup in his hand, and a smile on his face as he laughed at something a fake blonde told him as he passed her. I pushed the jealousy aside and held my hand out towards him with a pout, a weak, yet effective, attempt at getting him up on the table with me.

The tattooed man shook his head with a laugh, but jumped up onto the table nonetheless, sipping from his drink. "Dance with me." I pouted, giving him my best puppy dog eyes. I knew he'd cave.
JP slowly began to shuffle his feet from side to side, awkward as ever, whilst I twirled in front of him, running a hand through my hair. "You need to learn how to dance." I teased, prodding my finger into his chest as he just sarcastically smiled at me.

We swayed along to the music for about ten or so minutes, all tipsy and giggly. JP had finally loosened up, and was easily swaying along with me, realising that people were too drunk or high to notice us or care, bringing a smile to myself as I saw the old him slowly emerge. I'd missed that side of him - the side that didn't care what people thought, and was in touch with his emotions and put those he cared about before everything else. Sure, he acted like he didn't give a shit about anything, but I knew different.

Our dancing was abruptly stopped by a gasp escaping as I heard the first few bars of McFly's 'I'll Be Your Man' begin to play. I hadn't heard that song in years - 7 years - not since my mom had passed. McFly were a British band that hadn't quite reached popularity in the States yet, but my mom had always brought me up listening to them ever since she found out about them.

She'd made a friend whilst travelling when she was 18 - she spent a few months in the UK, where she'd made friends with Whitney, who she'd then stayed in touch with for the rest of her life. Whitney was a fan of pop rock, and introduced us to McFly when we visited her one summer. Ever since then, my mom was obsessed with them, and brought me up listening to them.

But after she passed, I couldn't bring myself to listen to their songs. Every time I heard their voices, it brought back painful memories of dancing through the house with mom, singing at the top of our lungs.  I couldn't listen to a song without tears streaming down my cheeks, and my heart breaking all over again.

JP knew how much I loved McFly; I used to make him listen to it all the time, singing along until he eventually joined in, having listened to it that much he knew all the lyrics by heart. He must have added it to the playlist, thinking I still loved them, and not knowing how it made me feel. But I couldn't tell him how it reminded me of that day all over again. He'd gone to so much effort, I couldn't ruin it for him.

But this song was different. Sure, the band still took me back to the days of my mom, but this song was ours. JP used to quietly sing this song to me, igniting a fire within me just from his gorgeous voice (and the fact that I only ever listened to that song when I was with him, or thinking of him). He thought he couldn't sing, but that voice never failed to make me crumble. Especially when it came to our song.

JP and I started dancing together as I blinked back the tears, focusing on how our bodies drifted closer together as the music turned more sensual. We lightly stepped from side to side, completely in sync as we draped our arms around each other, quickly discarding our drinks to the floor without a second thought. Sorry, cleaners! My arms were around his neck, my hand brushing the light hairs at the back of his neck, before drifting to brush over the tattoos on the column of his neck. His were around my waist, hands occasionally drifting over my back as we moved.