METANOIA - A Martin Garrix Fanfiction

Glasgow

Unlike Budapest, we were to stay for only half a day in Glasgow. Martin was to perform three hours after he arrived (the event manager apologized so much for this over the phone) which was eleven A.M., and we were to drive--fucking car ride!--to London an hour after that.

So Reuben only booked one room in the hotel we were staying, because that's all we'd do, no sleeping. Certainly not for Martin, because he damn well had enough sleep. Also, I talked Reu into booking the penthouse suite, because if we weren't going to stay for the night then I wanted space for leisure.

Apparently, my prediction of Martin having already enough sleep was wrong, because when we enter the penthouse, he went straight to bed, plopping himself asleep. And I wondered which was more comfortable, the bed or my shoulder.

Wait, no.

Reu left us for the venue, he told me to tell Martin that it's okay for him not to come. He also told me to order something from the hotel for me and Martin to eat while he's out.

I figured that maybe it's better to take a bath first, then wake Martin up and eat. So I did, and, thankfully, with no intrusion.

When I came out of the bathroom (wearing a bathrobe and a towel wrapped around my hair), Martin was awake, fussing over his Mac and undoubtedly enough, his music software.

"Aren't you supposed to be resting?" I shouted to him while I change in the bedroom, the door locked.

"I suppose I can do whatever the shit I want, Maia." He said not unkindly, and I thought if someone were to see us talk the way did, like we always did, they'd think we were fighting.

"Okay, but I'm ordering food." I stopped myself before I could say, at least eat with me.

"Okay. I'll eat what you eat,"

"What if I'm ordering hard-boiled human lungs?"

He didn't answer and by that time I was done changing into a sweater that I bought one size too big on purpose and jean shorts. I let my hair air-dry. "Martha?" I called out, opened the door, and jumped. And then he laughed, leaning to the door frame.

"By the Angel, you debauched swine, you fucking need to stop doing that or I'm having a heart failure,"

"This suite's pretty nice," He ignored me completely, stepping into the room before measuring me up and down.

"What?" I asked him after he stared for too long. "Is there something on my face, or—"

He walked forward and I almost thought he was going to touch my face, but his hands went to the neckline of my sweater that I hadn't realize was positioned too low and a little to my side, exposing my shoulder and almost chest. He repositioned it back, so it only showed a portion of my collarbones.

What had I been thinking, when I bought this sweater?

His hand lingered on my shoulders a little bit too long and I couldn't meet his eyes, couldn't even lift my face because I knew if I did that our nose will touch.

"Uh," I said, and my voice came out shaky, like after I sang in that stage in Budapest. "I'm ... gonna order some ... food." I took a step back and walked toward the telephone beside the bed.

"What do you want?" I asked him, looking at the bit of space between his eyes.

"Hard-boiled human lungs," Was his answer and I laughed a little too loud because I was somehow thankful he didn't feel awkward. Then he walked out of the room.

I picked up the phone and dialed '5' just like Reu told.

"Yeah. Hi." I said before the clerk could say anything. "Can I order two plates of vegetable salad with just a drizzle—hear that? A drizzle—of olive oil and sesame? Oh, and two cups of double espresso."