Angie's POV
Sweaty bodies thrashing around, the smell of liquor and cigarettes, my ears buzzing from the sounds of the large PAs on either side of the stage. There he stands, his curly locks clinging to his sweat-slicked forehead. His shirt is long gone, jeans hanging low on his waist while his booted foot is propped on top of one of the front fill speakers. I could feel the heat radiating from my cheeks, blood rushing to them as I become flustered at the sight. He was sublimity, acting as if he was performing just for me. His sapphiric eyes never dared to vacate my own, our gaze everlasting as if it were the last time we'd see each other on this earth, flesh and bone. How I wanted him...does he think this way about me? Seems as if we have known each other for five seconds, but yet I feel this desire. An ache, a longing. I don't know if it was the copious amount of shitty beer I've consumed tonight. I don't know if this was fate, a screaming sign of which my heart had found its forever residence. No. No, no, no. Way too ahead of myself. Like, way fucking far. This is a guy. A stranger. That I just met only a few days ago. This is just...fun. I don't want to get too carried away, I don't want to reach so far. Fun. I am having fun. I take another swig from my bottle, my face cringing slightly at the bitterness. I nod my head to the music, finally focusing my thoughts onto the band as a whole. And even then, my ears can't help but to hear him. Only him. A voice of etherealness, full of power, of heart, of all. The crowd was eating them up, completely under the band's control. They whistled and hollered, begging for more. I'd be a liar if I said I wasn't under their spell, too.
"Last song, new one."
Chris' voice booms, the band slowly introduces the song, feedback squeaking through the amps. The chords were haunting, the bass thundering, rhythmic and leisurely. Chris tilts his head back, eyes closed, his foot stomping slowly in sync with the tempo. The lights dim to a darker fuchsia, the shadows of his face deepening, his already sculpture-esque features becoming more defined. Crowd's enticed, and it's satisfying to observe.
"All of seventeen
Eyes a purple green
Treated like a Queen, she was
On borrowed self esteem
She would do a dance
A painful masquerade
Spinning you into her web
Along her vain parade"
These lyrics were...distressing. The ache on his face was more apparent than ever, his jaw clenching tightly as he furrowed his brows. He kept his eyes closed, as if to shield himself from the crowd. So as to not let anyone in. The windows to his soul now shuttered. Bitterness encapsulated into a few simple gestures.
"In her uniform
Studded brass and steel
Kissing napkin, lipstick stains
And smearing sincerity
Along her vain parade
Along her veins
Time crept up on her
She's an early grey
