Hopeless Romantic -- Brallon

{13}

BBU

I drive to Dallon's house with him sitting next to me. We're both singing, like last time. I love the joyous gleam in his eyes whenever we glance at each other. I love when his voice cracks from singing too loudly with me. I love the people outside the car looking at us like we're crazy. It's perfect. I could die happy knowing that he's happy.

I pull up to my driveway and we walk across the street. Dallon fumbles nervously with the key at first, but unlocks the door. He smiles at me once he opens the door to the house with his key. I smile back, with a slight blush I hope he didn't notice. I wonder if he's willing to date me yet. I haven't asked him in a little while, not like I regularly do. Since we've gotten closer and we're friends, I don't think it'd be smart to ask him out right now.

I'm still just so glad we're together. Not in a relationship, but here, just hanging out and making eyes. I can't believe yesterday I was just a hopeless romantic putting flowers in my crush's locker. Now I'm at his house, at his own invitation. I guess I'm not hopeless anymore...

We walk inside and he immediately goes towards the fridge and pulls out some Dr. Pepper. Obviously.

"I'll make sure not to spill anything this time." He winks. I mentally gush at the gesture. He winked at me. We take the soda upstairs to Dallon's room. We put the Dr. Pepper down and I suddenly notice something that wasn't there yesterday.

"Is..." I gasp. "Is that your bass guitar?" I ask. It's a pleasant orange with a hollow body. It looks really nice, but why didn't I see it yesterday? I knew Dallon played bass and a few other instruments, but I realized I've never seen him play.

"Yep. My orange, classic Eastwood 4. It was downstairs in the guest room yesterday, so that's why it wasn't in my room. You can play it if you want." He says, as we sit down on his bed. I grin and carefully take the bass from its stand. Dallon hands me a pick from his bedside table, and I play a little riff.

He takes a little sip of his soda. "You're pretty good! I haven't been playing recently because I've been kind of busy with schoolwork. Ryan S. and I play together sometimes. He can drum."

"That's cool! I wanna see you play!" I exclaim. I give him his bass and the pick. He plays a scale, then a complicated-looking riff. My eyes widen as he plays like a pro.

"Dallon! You're amazing! Do you and Ryan have a band?" I ask.

"Not really. We don't have gigs or anything, but we've written songs and performed in the garage for my mom." He replies.

Dallon's hands glide over the fretboard with ease. His blue eyes are concentrated on the instrument, plucking perfectly to the non-existent song. His hair flopping to his forehead as he tilts his head. The strings bounce back and forth against the orange. The low frequency of the bass almost gives a vibration to the entire room.

My eyes move from his instrument to his face. He glances at me with a slight smile and looks down at the frets again. His lips are rosy, yet chapped and faded. Dallon believes his lips are ugly since they're thin and dry all the time, but I always thought they were another gorgeous addition to himself. His lips are so delicate and fragile, like an antique. Like if I could touch them in the slightest, they'd shatter like rose-colored glass.

I hadn't even noticed him stop playing. I'm still analyzing the same incredibly featured face that has been burned into the back of my brain for years. I lean in to study his face more, only to be found with my own lips softly pressed against the delicate rose glass.

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Songs referenced:
Miserable At Best -Mayday Parade
Cancer -My Chemical Romance (or the tøp cover, whatever floats your boat)