Mellow ~ A Simon Rix FanFiction

Servant Simon

Simon's POV :3

Enjoy! x

"I bought coffee!" I push open the door into our studio using my right leg, both hands full carrying two trays of assorted drinks.

Immediately the rest of the guys swarm around me like thirsty wasps, "That skinny latte is mine!" Nick shouts, ripping the polystyrene cup out from it's cardboard prison.

"Is that one lacto free?" Rick mutters, pointing at the last remaining cup.

I nod, pass it to him, and glug down my own. Just regular tea.

I look over at Peanut, emerged in his sheet music, wondering if he has told the others. He wouldn't have. Peanut is great at keeping secrets.

"You alright over there Si?" Whitey peers over the top of his guitar case, yanking out the acoustic and slinging it over his shoulder.

I nod, "Yeah. Where are we going from?"

Nick begins to tap on his drums using his index fingers. "'You Can Have It All'?" He suggests.

Rick groans, "Lads, it's Saturday, let's start with-"

"'Saturday Night'?" Whitey catches Rick's line of thought, picking up his plectrum and beginning to strum the opening chords.

Rick shakes his head, "Actually, I was going to say 'Born To Be A Dancer' but if you insist Andrew."

Whitey rolls his eyes irritably.

I stand, bass hanging loosely from my tired shoulders.

I'm not really feeling up to this today, but we need to prepare for Moscow, and if there's one thing I hate it's being unprepared.

Nick counts us in.

I'm so absorbed in the music that I don't notice Rick's vocals becoming a little rougher in places. I look at him.

I stop playing.

"Si? Why did you stop?" Nick throws his sticks up into the air to symbolise his annoyance.

I ignore him and tap Rick on the shoulder, "You alright mate?"

Rick smirks painfully before shaking his head, "Stomach ache. That coffee was not lacto free." Rick grumbles, gritting his teeth through his ache.

"I asked for a lacto-"

Rick puts his hand on my shoulder, "No worries mate."

I pull the strap over my head and rest my bass against the wall. "No, I'll go and grab you another."

As I'm halfway out the door, Whitey catches by elbow, "Mate, could you get me another decaf whilst you're at it?" Before I can answer I hear the clinking of pound coins hitting against my palm.

"What am I? A servant?" I chuckle to make it seem like I'm not bitter even though I am a bit.

"No," Nick pipes up just before I shut the door, "you're a bassist."

Cheeky bastard.

:-:-:-:

The air is humid today. It always is this time of year. British Summer never lasts, and when it does, it turns the atmosphere all stuffy and salty, like at the gym. Not that I go often.

Aside from the humid air and occasional rain showers, it's a fairly nice day, so nice that a jacket isn't even necessary.

I can feel my jeans sticking to my legs with sweat.

Brits. Always complaining.

I cross the road and walk past the laundrette and pound shop before turning into our local coffee joint. It's not as crowded as it was before, and when the barista notices me, her expression turns sour. Probably because I'm the guy who ordered five different drinks and established that one had to be lactose free. Which it wasn't.