By The Way ||RHCP fanfic|| Anthony Kiedis

Chapter Two: Dani California

There has never been a more intimidating front door that I've come across in my entire life than that of Anthony Kiedis's house. Perhaps that's only because I know what -or, rather, who- lurks behind this particular front door, and that knowledge alone is enough to set my teeth on edge, as most people would agree. It's not the fact that I'm a huge fan of this guy that makes me feel as though I'm going to throw up when my finger pushes against the doorbell, because I'm not a huge fan of this guy or any of the other band members. I've heard a couple of their songs on the radio here and there and I've enjoyed them to an extent, but It's just not me. I'll listen to the head-banging, hair-swirling, brain-pounding, coma-inducing hardcore metal music before I'll ever pop a Chili Pepper's album into the radio. They're just too mellow for me.

The taxi speeds off back to the highway where it will lure its next victim in. Los Angeles is an intimidating place what with all the people living here, so if you don't know where you're going long before you get there, you're probably screwed. Stranded all alone on some residential street somewhere, nowhere else to go, surrounded by a plethora of drug dealers and pimps. Simple as that. It's the life of sink or swim here in L.A. that keeps its streets flowing with proud Californians day after day. Good thing Anthony was kind enough to give me his address so that I wouldn't be another stranded Californian just trying to blend in.

The front door swings open after what seems like a lifetime of waiting for a response, and there he is standing right before me, short messy brown hair and all: the very man I'd wanted so badly to meet. He's got two beautiful tribal tattoos decorating his upper arms, one on each arm in the exact same place, as well as a few other brilliantly done pieces of art. A bright orange coy fish surrounded by bright blue water trails down his skin clear down to his wrist where it ends abruptly. Perhaps too soon. I'd like to see the rest of that story. He's wearing a bright white male tank undershirt that provides a beautiful contrast against his tanned surfer boy skin. His muscles are accentuated and...

Oh, God. I feel like vomiting. He's actually really fucking hot. Who is this guy? Have I got the wrong house?

That's when my wandering eyes suddenly avert to his, locking there for a long while, not moving an inch. A warm, welcoming feeling rushes over me in that moment when our eyes finally meet...as though I'm being kissed by a thousand sunbeams or being swept away by the gracious waves of the ocean. They're a deep brown color, but they're warmer than a summer day; warm like burning wood at a campfire. Inviting. They whisper rhymes of welcome and love and care for anyone who comes across them, and for all of these reasons combined, they are unlike any other eyes I've ever seen in my life.

"Well hey there," he beams brightly once he's realized who I (potentially) am, his tone warm and bright yet mysteriously nonchalant in a number of various ways. "You must be Dani...the girl I've been trying to get ahold of for awhile. How are you?"

(did you catch that cheeky By The Way lyric reference I threw in there just for you guys? Is it in your ball park now folks? You pickin' up what I'm puttin' down, kids? Good to know...)

"Fine, thanks," is all I can manage to say in response to this, though there are a billion other things I'd like to say to him. Things like, 'why'd you want me to come over here?' or 'what's with all the letters and emails you've sent me over the years?' or 'hey, it's nice to meet you too Anthony, my name is Dani, how did you know?'

But no, no, no of course not. None of those things come out properly. Instead, all I've got to offer him is a simple "fine, thanks."

He breaks the awkward silence with a very dryly spoken "Oh, alright," so I indecisively shift my weight onto my left leg in a nervous manner and proceed to correct things between us by giving him an apologetic look.

"Listen dude, I'm sorry that I'm being such an asshole to you right now, it's just that I've been sitting in a fucking airplane for five hours and I'm just-"

"Not a problem," he says before I can finish my sentence, dark brown eyes laced with immediate forgiveness, lips spread into a graceful grin that nearly makes my head explode. What's with this guy and his beautiful fucking smile? No wonder he's so famous: he's a natural hottie and a practiced charmer. Huh. I'm almost sure that I can learn to respect that gift.

"You can just sleep here tonight if you'd like. I'm sure you're exhausted after that flight, and a hotel bed probably wouldn't be the best choice. I've got a spare bedroom."