Lutteo one shots

Searching for the moon

Heavily inspired by "Maria" by Olly Murs.

Trust me, I have absolutely no idea what this is.

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He sat alone. As far away from the many people around him as possible. Wherever he looked, they flocked together, drank and laughed. They drowned him in the noise of their meaningless chatter while he felt silent, but their voices were never enough to scare away the emptiness inside him.

It was nothing new. Touring used to have this effect on him, sooner or later. During the first weeks, he enjoyed the travelling, explored these wonderful new places if only for a day or two. The lights on stage warmed him, filled him with colors.

Soon, they were turning to grey.

By the second moth, he missed his family. His friends, his home. A place to wind down and leave the world behind. He should've gone home for two days when he had the chance, or at least book the plane ticket for Gastón. Instead, this loneliness consumed him. Distraction waited for him only at daytime, when phone cameras flashed in front of his face, and during the concerts. After all, Matteo loved his job.

But the joy he found in performing never lasted.

Days off like this one brought nothing but torture. His team strolled through the city while he had excused himself to work on a new song. Ten minutes after they left, he abandoned his guitar into the corner of the hotel room. The chords his fingers played sounded too awful, too screeching, like fingernails on a blackboard. Writing like this won him nothing, not even a smile.

Now, the same hands tried to work out a rhythm as he twirled the ice cubes in his glass. His mind aimed for a chart-topping melody, a lead single for the album he'd soon start recording. The result reminded him more of the cringey wannabe-pop albums he had stacked into shelves during his first summer job.

Matteo sighed.

Closed his eyes. Imagined the story he wanted to tell, let the pictures come alive inside him. Muttered an encouragement to himself and tried again.

It worked out better this time. The breaths people took before they kept babbling lead him until he found his own rhythm and quickly, his mind presented him the right instruments to add later in the studio. His guitar, of course, and drums that would build up and quiet down for the last verse. Maybe a soundboard, or fingers tapping on a wooden counter.

Wait.

The latter one didn't come from his imagination. The latter one was real.

His eyes blinked open. A young woman stood by his side, her hand rested on the bar. A smile graced her lips as she joined him in his weak attempt to write a new song.

He stopped.

When he glanced over to her, she looked like a child who wanted to steal more cookies and got caught. Maybe she was embarrassed to see him, maybe her phone would be all up in his face in an instant to save his misery for the whole world to see. Maybe she'd squeal so much the whole bar would notice him.

"Sorry, but you must be the most depressed person in the entire street," she said instead, just loud enough for him to hear. "Isn't it a bit pathetic to sit here all by yourself like you're in a shitty afternoon telenovela?"

"Isn't it a bit pathetic to waste your time telling me that instead of talking to your friends?" he shot back, but already turned towards her. His eyes darted over her, waited for a sign that realization dawned upon her, waited for her to freak out.

None of these signs came.

She only leaned closer and flashed a grin at him. "See, I like to cheer people up who desperately need it. And that beat was pretty sweet." Once more, she copied the rhythm, humming along.