Vox: A FanFic/X-Reader

Chapter Fifteen

Steadying my breathing, I walk down a narrow path with orange fabric as walls. As I pass a truck bed, a short person in a robe tosses me a long black robe. They motion to my hair and I grab a hair elastic. I finagle it back into a ponytail and drape the robe over my shoulders. My arms slip into the too-big armholes easily. They hand me a mask and assist me with securing it and fastening the hood to it. A piece of black lace covers the mask and buttons behind my neck. They give me a thumbs up and point toward the stage.

I follow the path all the way and walk up the steps to the stage. There are people around setting up wearing masks, but I know they're the crew.

I glance at my phone and see there are two minutes to go. It's a tight schedule. Running late means less time to perform.

The alcohol finally does its job. Though I'm unsure where to stand, I remember he said to the side, but it's out in the open. People can see me. I move to the back-curtained area and lean against a metal tower in the corner.

Someone runs over, motioning for me to move, and I step to the side again. As I do, someone brushes against me and a combination of chills and butterflies sweep through me. It's so intense, I regret my anxiety-calming shots. My eyes flick up and I realize it was the band. They're standing where I was in the back a minute ago.

My hands press against my thighs. The heat sticks to my skin; it's too hot to be in the sun wearing black. I stare out into a sea of people, dressed in defiance. Endurance. Their excitement washes over me.

In my head, I chant—They're just people—over and over until my breathing is calm. Someone cares enough about me to arrange for me to be up here. I'm fine. It's fine. This is fine.

Music starts. The crowd screams. The lead calmly walks forward. I straighten and observe. Best seat in the house.

Every beat of every song I know by heart. I can't sing them, but I know them. The highs, the lows, the gut-wrenching emotional turmoil, the swell of sound, the cacophony that overlaps, and the silence in between the notes. It's burned into my brain.

Scanning the crowd, I see a different view. How overwhelming it must be. People are fickle as fuck. Fair-weather friends at best. To keep that many happy is a feat. Music truly unites. With every note, we're enchanted. Minds quieten. Hearts rest easier.

He's a siren. But even sirens need space, need to recharge, away from the chaos of people. I get it, I think. Maybe I'm wrong. Probably.

The song changes and the tempo picks up. Music crashes and collides. People sway and move. Their arms wave in the air.

He dances, possessed by something I can't see. The pitter-patter of shoeless feet. His body shakes and convulses, bending and contorting, and it's beautiful. He's ethereal in his zeal with his god who speaks in dreams. He, our conduit, leads and spreads his message to a willingly captive audience.

It's breathtaking and inspiring. I'm enamored. As I look around, I realize people are spellbound, intoxicated, and it's truly a spiritual experience.

The sun beats down on my uncovered arms. I move under the canopy to the back where I was before, where the band was. Hidden in shadows, I watch the next two songs. Time fades and I'm saddened by the thought of the end of their show.

Music fades and a steady drum begins, slow and sure. The lead walks toward his keyboard. He sits down. The sides of the stage canopy drop to protect his privacy.

He faces straight and only four feet of space separate us. His eyes—I feel them on me. He removes his mask. I slide down the metal tower on my ass and pull my knees up to my chest. My hand covers my mouth to stop the sound. He sings Unchained Melody to me while I sob. His voice soothes and destroys me all at once.

I'm going to kill him.

After I hug him.

And kiss him.

But first, I'll make sure he understands we're fine.