Mellow ~ A Simon Rix FanFiction

Gig

Delilah's POV :3

Enjoy!

So far no one has needed to get their stomach pumped, only a couple of cases of projectile vomiting and currently no known unplanned pregnancies. Unlike last year.

A surge of people come rushing into the hall, eagerly awaiting for the band.

I heard that the lead singer used to work here briefly, which explains why all the kids are buzzing. The staff have been banging on about it all week.

I make my way to the back of the hall, standing with the other chaperones, one, an ancient chemistry teacher who should have probably retired several decades ago, and the other our unattractive gym teacher who also works as a fishmonger, meaning the smell of raw fish and guts follows him around wherever he goes. I move away from him slightly, not wanting the scent to cling to my smart blazer.

They're a five piece band from what I can see, and judging by the enormous lettering smothering the drum kit, they are called 'Kaiser Chiefs'.

I watch intensely as the drummer, a tall and skinny guy with a dark mob of hair, sits down at his kit, followed by a shorter man wearing a dark, forest green beanie, a guitar slung over his shoulder. Next a fairly anxious but serious looking guy swiftly moves to stand behind his keyboard, as another man follows behind with a bass. He's seriously tall with crazy curly hair.

You know that feeling when you think you know someone but can't quite put a finger on how or why?

The kids (and staff) go mental when their beloved art teacher appears, ginger hair sticking to his forehead with sweat, waistcoat tight around his torso. He seems totally calm and collected, like performing in front of this many people doesn't even phase him one bit.

"Evening everyone," he slurs, slightly tipsy. This earns a loud cheer. "My name is Ricky Wilson and we are the Kaiser Chiefs." everyone yells. "It's good to be back." Yes. Definitely tipsy.

Ricky then moves around the stage, introducing all his band mates individually. "This is our very own Peanut-" I zone out for a bit, eager for them to begin their set. It's been a while since I've seen a band play live, maybe the first time in two or three years, definitely not since uni. "And lastly, our bassist, Simon-"

That's why I know him. It's the guy from the cat shelter. The one that wrote his number on the back of my hand. He's in a band.

"And this is a little number called 'Sink That Ship'..."

Not going to lie, they are pretty damn good, and the chemistry between them all seems totally unbreakable.

I find myself only watching the left side of the stage where Simon and Peanut are playing. Now they've started, Peanut looks less stressed and comfortable. It's hard to even see Simon, hidden by his mass of unruly hair.

When they finish their set I have the task of thanking them.

The crowd begins to file out, continuing the party elsewhere, probably the car park or the youth centre down the road.

I shove past a couple of drunk pupils and make my way up close to the stage, heart beating madly.

No. He won't recognise me. He has no reason to. Stop thinking.

Up the stairs.

Palpitations.

How do I do this without being cringe?

As I step up onto the first step I can hear Ricky murmur, "I told you." to the drummer who only smirks in response.

"Come up here pretty lady," Ricky helps me up onto the stage, taking my hand in his. I can feel my cheeks flush, and not because I find him attractive, just because of how nervous I am.

The band begin to clear away their set in silence, not seeming at all interested in the short, mousy haired History teacher from Manchester.

"I just wanted to thank you all on behalf of everyone," I begin, keeping my nerves under wrapped, "I can now see why you quit teaching."

Ricky nods, "Just glad we could be of some use." He wipes his forehead with the back of his hand, now smothered in glistening sweat globules.

"Nice to be back?" I query. I can see Simon in the corner of my eye packing away his bass guitar.

Ricky shrugs, "Teaching was always a dream of mine, but it's okay to let go of your dreams sometimes."

I reach into my pocket and pull out the envelope containing their payment. Ricky shoves my hand away.

"No, don't bother."

I can see guitarist's expression turn sour at this.

"No, take it-"

"No." He persists before turning around to face his mates, "Lads we better be off."

"Of course." I smile.

He doesn't remember. Ugh, men are all the same.

:-:-:-:

They left the building a few minutes ago. Nothing from Simon.

I'm on my hands and knees in the school entrance trying to clean up one of the few vomit incidents from the evening. It smells like a rotting corpse.

I scrub the carpet fibres, grimacing, knowing my hands are going to stink like shit after this.

"You never said you were a teacher." A voice makes me jump.

I look up.

"You never asked." I reply, slightly short.

Simon pushes the hair out of his eyes, "Sorry I didn't say anything-"

"It's okay."

He shakes his head, taking the cloth from my hands, getting on his knees, and begins to clear up the sick.

"I can do it, you don't need to, your friends are waiting-"

He interrupts again, "It's just, if I said something they would have ripped into me about it and given me stick for weeks. One of the downsides to being in a band." He explains, concentrating on the carpet stain.

I pull the cloth from his hands. "Go back to your friends, they'll be waiting for you."

"I told them to go without me. I can get a bus."

I peer over at his bass guitar.

"You're willing to take a Fender on a bus?" I query, biting my lip.

He only shrugs. "I felt bad. I don't like feeling bad." He pauses, tearing the cloth back. "What do you teach?"

I pick up a separate cloth and help him to work the stain out of the carpet, "Guess."

"Hmmm. English?"

I shake my head, "History."

Simon groans, "I was close!"

"If you say so." I mumble, hands tired and red raw.

Simon pulls away the cloth, revealing a clean carpet. "There, did the trick."

We both stand. I take the cloth from him as he lugs his bass over his shoulder. "Thanks for the help." I stare down at my feet, feeling slightly awkward all of a sudden.

"It's no problem Delilah." He smiles before turning on his feet, pushing open the glass door, and walking away, presumably towards the nearest bus shelter.

I can't help myself. I sniff my hands. Bad mistake.