Endlessly

Best Friends

"Hey Dom!" Matt shouts, snapping me out of my day dream. "You ready to go or what?" I stare at him blankly for a few moments before answering.

"Hmm? Oh yeah. I'll meet you guys outside. I'll only be a moment," I mumble. What was I even thinking about. Surely, not the gig. I've preformed hundreds of times and I don't really get nervous anymore. So what the fuck was it then?

I get up off the hotel bed and walk to the bathroom. I look to the mirror and decide that I look fine. So what if my hair is a little messy? It's not like the fans will give a damn. I shove my hands into the pockets of my black skinny jeans that I wear for almost every gig. I run down the stairs, my blue necklace bumping off my chest with every step I take. Ever since I started dressing like this for our concerts, Matt, Chris, and Tom have started making less witty remarks about my fashion sense. So what if I like leopard print? It's fun.

I quicken my pace to a jog as I approach the car. I slide in the backseat next to Chris with Tom driving and Matt sitting shotgun.

"Aye Bellamy! Don't you think you're a little too short to be sitting in the front?" I banter. Matt just turns around slowly and glares at me while Chris is trying not to crack up and Tom is grinning and shaking his head. This is what we do. Playful banter between best friends.

"Like you're any taller," he scoffs with a smile while rolling his eyes. Chris cannot contain his laughter anymore and covers his face with his hands. I give some sort of a half-assed laugh.

"I am a full inch taller than you," I say, trying not to sound like too much of a dick.

"You two are bickering like an old married couple," Chris giggles. Matt and I both just glare at him until he stops laughing. The smile fades off his face and he puts his hands up defensively, not saying another word.

The car ride was only a couple of minutes long and most of that time was spent on our silly little argument. Those are the things we remember. The pure moments when it's just us. No crowds, no cameras, no reporters. Just some friends doing stupid shit as if we were still small children.

The four of us enter the stadium through the back and we all split off to do our own things. Matt and Chris race each other to where their instruments are being held so they can tune, Tom goes to make sure all the equipment is in the correct place, and me? I usually just find somewhere to sit down and tap out some rhythms on random objects. I take a seat on an empty percussion box and pull my drum sticks out of my back pocket. Before I can play anything, Matt is walking up to me. It's strange how we started wearing all black since the release of Drones. Matt is wearing jeans almost identical to mine and a plain black jacket. Even the Manson strapped to his back is as dark as the night sky.

"Dom?" he asks quietly.

"Hmm?" My attention is pulled away from the guitar the moment I hear his voice.

"Have you been feeling alright?" he asks. He takes off the guitar, sits down next to me, and lays it across our laps. My attention is now pulled to his shoulder which is pressing against mine. "Dom?"

"What do you mean?" I mumble, my eyes once again fixated on the guitar.

"Well, you've seemed kinda... Out of it lately..." he trails off at the end of his sentence. It's odd how often he does that.

"Matt," I say, turning my head so I'm staring him straight in the eyes. "You're my best friend. I would tell you if something was bothering me, wouldn't I?"

"I suppose so..." he trails off. "Well we should probably be going on stage soon. Let's go," he says, pushing himself off of the box. I get up as well, trailing a good distance behind him. Chris is already waiting for us.

The three of grin us at each other before running out onto the stage, into the white noise that is that crowd and into the blinding lights.