Fire Back on Your Tongue

Chapter I

Ryan groaned as he felt the light sleep he had been in slipping away. He cracked one eye open, estimating from the sun he could see coming in the window that he'd slept on and off for about two hours. He rolled over, shoving his face into the pillow, and wishing he was someone who had no troubles falling asleep. 

His head was pounding from exhaustion, and the loud police sirens he could hear outside the window weren't helping. His earplugs barely muffled the sounds as they grew closer, sounding like they were right on top of him. He silently cursed the ridiculously expensive apartment prices in New York, wishing he could afford to be somewhere more than a sidewalk's width from a major road.

He pulled the earplugs out, still not removing his face from the pillow, and dropped them on the floor next to the mattress. He then rolled over, throwing his legs off the edge of the bed so he could use the momentum to stand up. He stood there for a moment, swaying slightly with his eyes closed as the blood returned to his head, and the pounding in his ears subsided. He eventually looked around the apartment, somehow disappointed that it was still so pathetic. 

Ryan made his way over to the one small window, high enough up to be right at his eye level. He watched a few dozen pairs of feet walk by, all moving quickly on their lunch breaks. At least, he figured it was about lunch time. Someone dropped the wrapper from their hot dog right in front of him, and he took it as a sign he was right. He shook his head and decided he had to shower today. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had one, but judging by the steep decline in the amount of money he had made busking, he was probably starting to smell pretty ripe. 

He stood under the head of the shower for quite a while, zoning out and thinking about nothing. When he tried to turn up the hot water and realized there wasn't any left, he finally dragged himself out and wrapped his only towel around his waist. It still had toothpaste on the corner from where he'd used it to wipe his face last night, but he felt an overwhelming sense of apathy about that fact. 

Digging through the pile of clothes in the corner of the room, he managed to find a shirt that didn't seem to smell, and pulled that on with his jeans and some socks that weren't even close to matching. He grabbed his phone from the floor and unplugged it, glancing at the notifications even though he knew he never had any messages. He shoved it in his pocket and grabbed the guitar case leaning by the door before double locking his front door, and climbing the stairs to the street. 

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Ryan had been playing in his usual place at fifth and twenty third for a few hours. He'd made good money playing some Billy Joel songs for a bachelor party that had wandered past him. At first, their request of We Didn't Start the Fire had been in jest, but when Ryan immediately cut off the remaining bars of his acoustic cover of Bohemian Rhapsody, and proved to them that he knew all the words, they stuck around and tipped him handsomely. 

The streetlights had come on, and the few people that were still out in this part of town weren't paying any attention to the skinny guy playing the guitar. The strangers hurried home after long days at work, pointedly not making eye contact with Ryan as he defaulted to his favourite songs. These ones definitely pulled less attention from passersby, but he knew them so well his mind could zone out, and he played them on auto pilot. He wasn't even aware of what song he was singing as a man about his age sat down on the sidewalk in front of him, crossing his legs and staring with rapt attention. 

Ryan's heart felt like it was beating irregularly as his fingers slipped on the strings, and his singing got quieter until he was sitting in silence, staring back at the man. "Uhh, can I help you?" Ryan intended to sound rude and intimidating, hoping to scare the guy out of his personal space, but his complete bewilderment took over when he spoke.

The man smiled at him and shook his head. "I just wanted to listen to you playing. I love that song." 

Ryan racked his brain for what song he'd been playing but couldn't remember for the life of him. He really didn't want to admit that to the stranger though. "And you needed to sit down to do that?" Ryan squinted at him before beginning another song. It was one of his go to crowd pleasers, but the man immediately frowned and shook his head. 

"No no no. If I wanted to hear another Sweet Home Alabama cover, I'd walk three blocks that way." He in no way indicated a direction. Ryan stopped playing.

"What do you want me to play?" He was pretty sure the amount of eye contact this guy was making had already surpassed the cumulative amount Ryan had received in the past five years. He felt so aware of his gaze, but couldn't tear his eyes away. The man shrugged and glanced around the mostly empty street.

"Whatever you'd be playing if I wasn't here." He smiled and leaned back on his hands, cracking his neck to each side as Ryan watched him in utter confusion.

Ryan closed his eyes and tried to pretend he was in fact alone on the street. He felt the slightly cool breeze move the hairs on his neck, and felt a smile move his lips as he played the first song that came to mind. He was certain it wasn't what the guy was expecting him to choose, but as he hit the chorus he opened his eyes to see him grinning and swaying back and forth slightly. They smiled at each other as Ryan played through the rest of the song. The guy mouthed along to the lyrics, clearly knowing them all, but never joined him in singing. Ryan wondered what his voice would sound like, and tried to remember the last time someone had actually harmonized with him. He got drunken lyrics slurred at him on a daily basis, but he missed playing with people who actually loved music as much as he did.

The song ended and they smiled softly at each other before the man got to his feet. "Thanks for that." He dropped a bill in Ryan's guitar case and started to walk away down the street, humming a tune to himself that Ryan didn't recognize. Ryan watched him go, feeling a little sad that the brief encounter had been one of the highlights of his week. He went to place his guitar back in the case when he noticed the bill the man had given him. Ryan's jaw dropped as he realised the guy had given him $500 for one song. He didn't think they even printed denominations that high anymore. 

He looked back in the direction the man had gone, but there was no sign of him. Ryan shook his head, mind racing with all the things he could spend it on. His guitar was pretty beat up, but it still sounded great. He took the usual path back to his house, cutting through parking lots and gaps in fences that hadn't been repaired. As much as his logical side told him he should buy some new clothes, or even more so, some decent food with the money, as he stopped in front of the lamp post by his house, he already knew in his heart what he was going to use it for. The flyer that had been taped there a week ago, mocking him daily with its advertised diversity of bands playing at its show, was still there. He tore it down, silently thanking the universe that he had made this money the day before the concert. 

He wandered into his apartment, scanning the unfamiliar names listed on the flyer. He hadn't had enough money to go to a live show since he'd left home. Even then, his dad had been opposed to the "depravity of the music scene" as he always put it. Ryan had snuck out and gone to a few shows before the night he forgot to wash the black Xs off his hands and his dad had freaked out. He'd grounded him for a month, and that had been Ryan's breaking point. He knew he wouldn't be able to become a musician with his father controlling his life, so he'd moved out on his own, and had been barely making ends meet ever since. 

He flopped down on the bed, holding the flyer to his chest and letting his mind wander to the man from earlier. He'd seemed so happy to just sit and listen to Ryan play. And his smile had made Ryan smile. He shook his head and told himself that he'd probably never see the guy again. New York was a huge city, and he'd never seen him before. At least he thought he would have remembered him. He was gorgeous for starters. His dark hair hung low over his eyes, but the smolder that they managed to portray was not diminished. Ryan felt a distant flutter in his stomach as he pictured the way the man had just stared at him as he played. 

As he drifted off to sleep, he realised he felt alive for the first time in years.