lacuna

Chapter Twenty-Five

Fallon's pov

The last thing I wanted was to come across Kat and her little friend group. So, during lunch, the only thing I could do was get inside the nearest room as fast as possible to avoid them. And that room just happened to be the music room. I rested my head against the door, my back turned to the rest as I listened for their footsteps to walk past.

"A knock would've been nice" a voice mumbled and I snapped around, my eyes landing on the pale, jet-black-haired boy seated behind a set of drums.

"O-oh, I'm sorry, I didn't realise-" I said my eyes widening and a redness creeping up my neck. I tried to keep my attention on him but my eyes kept moving to the small glass in the door.

"They didn't walk past yet if that's what you're curious about," he said, cocking his head to the side and I turned a deeper shade of red.

I walked further into the room, "Right. Thanks. Sorry for barging in, I was kind of in a hurry and-".

"You're good" was all he said before looking down at his phone.

As I looked around, I realised I'd never been in here before. The space was a brownish yellow, the walls covered with vinyl and portraits of the school orchestra and choir over the years. A complete shelf was lined with plaques and framed certificates, a proud boastful reminder of the school's accomplishments with music.

I glanced back at the door and sighed, "Do you mind if I hang around here for a few minutes? Just for a little while".

Justin shrugged, putting away his phone and sliding on one side of the headphones he had slung around his neck, "Yeah, make yourself at home".

I grabbed a seat in one of those rolling office chairs and pulled out my English book.

Might as well make up for the day you skipped school with Eli.

A few minutes went by and I was halfway through the analysis, discarding the thought of Kat and his friends as the soft sound of a stick being tapped against one of the drums ran in the background. I glanced up a few times to see Justin seated behind his instrument, the headset not fully on yet as he kept his gaze fixated on the stick he was tapping against the drum. But as soon as I turned my attention back to my writing, he cleared his throat. I looked up to see his eyes on me, expectantly. I've never seen him like that. His eyes were slightly wider than usual and there was a faint rose in his cheeks, his lips pressed into a thin line.

"Yeah?" I put my pen down, understanding that he was nervous about something.

He had one of the drumsticks in his hand, twirling it between his fingers, "I...um...I practised this small beat and I was wondering if...uh...if-"

"If I could listen to it?" I finished for him with a soft smile and his mouth twitched up in a corner. He nodded.

How in the world could someone call this person cold and heartless?

"I'm all ears," I said, crossing my arms on the table, and leaning forward. He arranged his headset so both sides were on his ears and I noticed him sucking in a breath. And then it started.

Every tap of his drumstick on a drum felt like it was meant to be. He drove with the beat, his whole body dedicated to the bass and the rhythmic flow, his hands moving over the instrument perfectly as he resonated with it. I felt the hairs on my arms and the back of my neck rise, wanting to absorb everything about the melody. I wondered if this was what he did when I put a blade to my arm instead. It made sense. To be in that place where it was only you with you, every cell, tissue, organ and system in your body filled with exhilaration and sensitivity but numbness at the same time.